


It's All About The Money

by kissmyeyes



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Blackmail, I've always sucked at tagging, Janson forces Newt into things, M/M, Minho and Newt have been dating for four years, Minho is in his last year of university, Minho is the best boyfriend you could ever ask for, Minor Violence, Newt has a job, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Harassment, much nsfw very porn, stuff stuff stuff, they live together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:58:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmyeyes/pseuds/kissmyeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continual sequence of four years' worth events have brought them to the point where Minho and Newt live alone in a nice little apartment in uptown Denver. Newt's salary covers Minho's university fee and their apartment bills, barely leaving them any money to take care of such simple things as food and clothes, but they manage it. The future only seems bright with the perspective of Minho graduating in a few months time and finding a job; and when Newt is offered a promotion with a considerable salary increase, it seems like things will only go up the hill from this point.</p><p>Instead, everything goes to hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. WARNING

Since a lot of people don't pay attention to the tags and warnings of the stories, I've decided to post this here to make sure people read it:

This story has its fair share of warnings. It contains minor descriptions of violence and non-consensual sexual engagement (in other words: rape). I believe there's also some emotional/psychological struggle. This might appear triggering for some people who have suffered through this kind of things before, so please make sure you're comfortable with everything before proceeding to read. There's nothing very graphic, but I thought the warnings are still necessary. 

I find it important to mention that  **I in no way support or encourage sex without consent/sexual harassment/emotional abuse/violence/blackmailing. The content of this story is ONLY and STRICTLY a work of fiction and is unforgivable to even _consider_ in real life.** I will not tolerate any hate comments.

I promise to put warnings in the notes of each chapter in case people want to know what exactly they are going to deal with. I think I might have exaggerated a little, it's not THAT bad, but in any case it was important to put this warning up here. 

So.

If you're SURE that you're into this, I will not hold you any longer. Enjoy the story, and see you in hell, buddy. :) 


	2. Four Years And Going

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings in here just yet:) 
> 
> All mistakes are mine. Please feel free to point them out, as a non-native speaker it'll help to improve my English.

Newt's body was certainly in his office. His hand clutched the mouse and eyes stared into the computer screen, but his mind was somewhere else.

 _"Wanna make out?"_ Minho's voice still rang in his ears and the events of this morning made his cheeks flush. All he did was  _innocently_ roll his eyes and then somehow Minho was on top of him and he was gasping for air as the harmless kissing session grew into a not so harmless handjob. He had to literally escape Minho's grasp to put on some clothes and rush to work. As much as he tried to hurry, he still ended up four minutes late.

Minho didn't have any morning classes and staying in bed till midday wasn't much of an issue for him. Until recently, it hadn't been an issue for Newt, too. But things changed when the blonde graduated and found a full time job as a marketer in one of the best advertising companies of Denver. The money wasn't much, really, but there was a promise of potential promotion perhaps after a year of working hard enough, and Newt was determined to do his best. 

Ever since he got this job, he insisted upon paying their apartment bills, not to be a burden for their parents anymore. Minho hesitated at first, trying to convince Newt that he would be fine finding a part time job somewhere to help the blonde out, but Newt assured him that Minho needed to concentrate solely on his studies to become a good specialist and manage to find a highly paid job in future. That was a point Minho couldn't argue with. 

Newt was still recalling the morning's events, when his intercom buzzed. 

"Newton, please come to my office." The smooth Australian accent pronouncing these words never failed to make a chill run down Newt's spine. Somehow, his boss always chose the moments of calling Newt in, when the blonde hadn't been expecting it. 

Newt quickly checked his crotch for a boner - after thinking about Minho so much that wouldn't've been surprising - and having made sure that he looks presentable, he quickly skirted around his desk to get to the door in the opposite side of the corridor. He knocked politely once and hearing the usual "come in" stepped inside gingerly. 

"You asked to see me, Sir?"

"Hello, Isaac." As the man looked up from the papers he'd been bent over, Newt allowed a shy smile. "I would like a word with you, if you're not busy." 

"Of course." 

Having spent an entire of thirty minutes daydreaming about his boyfriend, Newt certainly couldn't afford a chat with his boss. But since the man had all the authority of the place, Newt wouldn't have dared to reject him.

"You were late today," Janson said coolly, voice laced with so much ice, it made Newt shudder uneasily. 

"I- I know, Sir," he stuttered, gaze dropping down to his feet. "It won't repeat."

"Certainly not. Our success is based upon the strict professionalism we expect from our workers and it is very important you understand that a minor flaw can be crucial in this unstable field."

Newt nodded, still not daring to look up. He couldn't believe he fucked up so stupidly.

“Nonetheless," Janson spoke again and there was a note of such intense strictness in his voice, Newt knew he ought to look into the man's eyes, "you are easily one of the best workers I’ve had the luck to hire for my assistance."

Newt stared. He wasn't entirely sure he'd heard right, because it was very much out of the context. He was being told off, wasn't he?

"I need you to give me your best, Isaac. People like you are those to keep our company afloat; you cannot allow errors. It is only natural that I want to encourage you to work harder and better because I see a brilliant future preserved for you. Now, the problem is that you have only been a part of WCKD Plus merely above four months and giving you a salary increase would raise a high wave of displeasure from your colleagues, seeing as none of them had succeeded to impress me upon giving them career promotion before our policy allows (which would be after at least six months of efficient work)."

Brilliant future... Career promotion... Salary increase... Newt suddenly knew what being dumbstruck felt like. He stood in front of this powerful man, hands fiddling with his fingernails nervously and words failed him right then and there, probably at the most important instant of his entire life.

"Nevertheless," Janson continued, seemingly unfazed by Newt's awestruck face, "the rules are quite flexible when you are the one controlling them. I’m keen on seeing more of your ideas and I offer to double your salary, if it stays between the two of us.”

Newt managed to utter a tiny  _"Oh."_ and it seemed like a good enough start for him but then Janson grinned, as if expecting this kind of reaction and Newt was sent into the overwhelmed state again.   
  
“But Sir," he said after a fair amount of silence. "As flattered as I amto hear such praise from You, _how_  could we possibly keep my salary increase in secret if the accountants-”  
  
He thought he saw Janson's smile crook into one side, gaining some semblance to a smirk, before the man interrupted. “My dear Isaac, this is the tricky part. They are not to know, so the transfer of the money will be, for the lack of a better word, illegal. Now, before you jump into any wrong conclusions, I assure you that there is nothing wrong with this sort of thing. It’s all a part of being a major figure in your field, which our company is. No where official will it be stated that you are getting more money. If you are smart enough to keep it down, which I am sure you are, no one will know that there are a couple of 0’s more landing in your bank account every month.”  
  
Newt hesitated. It sounded way too fishy. Why would such a respected man want to get involved in something illegal just to pay a common employee?

But then again, whereas for some people law is a brick wall, for those like Janson it is just a chalk line drawn on the floor, easy to cross whenever pleased.  
  
“Ah, it is rather foolish of me to offer you this," Janson said nonchalantly. "It must sound oddly suspicious, I understand your mistrust. Did you know that rewarding one generously for their hard work increases their productivity with nearly as much as 30%? An impressive number, isn't it? Especially when you make sure to invest into the right people." 

There was a smile on Janson's face that Newt couldn't interpret and that made him feel exposed under the man's gaze.

"I- I need some time to think the offer through."

Newt was expecting a characteristic "of course" or "naturally" but instead came a stiff "You have one day. Resume to work." 

* * *

"It does sound fishy," Minho agreed, blinking his bloodshot eyes repeatedly to get rid of the pain in them.

Newt sighed. "You're blessed to not have any problems with your sight but you're not gonna be lucky forever, y'know."

It was a feeble attempt to change the topic, but it seemed to work.

Minho rubbed his fists against his closed lids and talked. "It's not like I can afford a decent textbook but I prefer to use this shitty PDF copy. It has pages missing, but it's the best I could find on the internet." 

Newt surveyed the dark eyes he loved so much for a long minute, following the path of every little vein in them and wishing they wouldn't be so red and battered.

"I'm gonna take the offer," he stated at last, coming to a decision.

Minho looked at him sharply, eyes narrowing into even thinner lines in order to focus on Newt's face. 

"It doesn't sound so weird if you give it a thought. People probably do that all the time. It's not like I'm stealing, right? He's giving the money to me," Newt thought out loud. "And besides. He said himself that the numbers will never make it to anywhere official. He won't have evidence against me, if this goes down the wrong path." 

"That's true, yeah. I don't see why your boss would lie to you, but there's just something that makes me feel uneasy about this whole affair. You're breaking the law after all, that's not jokes."

"I know it's not, Min, but Janson is a man of his word. He's literally one of the most respected people of Denver, I don't think he'd be as low as to trick a poor worker into some fraud."

Minho sighed in defeat. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think I am. We could do with a little spare money and it'd be stupid to deny this offer. I'm taking it."

* * *

"Guess what day it is?" Newt's voice sang from the threshold and Minho heard the rustle of shoes being tossed aside.

"Hello to you, too," he laughed as Newt plopped on the sofa next to him and kissed the tip of his nose briefly as a greeting. 

"C'mon Min, guess it."

"Uh, Friday?" 

"It's the payday, you dumbass!"  

"You usually take longer to talk when I-  _Oh!"_

"Exactly!" Newt bounced up and down the sofa in excitement and at that very moment Minho was sure his boyfriend is the human embodiment of a golden retriever. "Guess how much!" the blonde chimed, shoving his phone onto the Asian's face. 

Minho had to grab Newt's hand to steady it and squint at the screen to see the text message from Newt's bank. 

 _"Holy fuck, Newt,"_ he cursed, gaping at the number.

"I KNOW! Grab your ass and your nicest suit, we're going out," Newt suddenly announced. 

"We're- what?"

"Get up, hurry." 

"But-"

"Oh my god, shut up and dress yourself, Min, I wanna take my boy out because I can fucking afford it!" 

It felt a little silly to be spending money on such a fancy restaurant. Newt assumed it would take some time to get used to. Making fun of people in overly smart clothes, chewing on the fancy food in tiny portions (which was about half the size of portions in Frypan's and twice the price) and to conclude the evening add hot, steamy sex at home.

Taking Janson's offer seemed to be the best decision Newt has ever made. 

 


	3. Thus The Game Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the title states, the game begins in this chapter but I believe there's still nothing to warn about in here. The actual porn will start from the fifth chapter and also there's gonna be something minor in chapter four... anyway, I hope you like this :) 
> 
> I stayed up till 3 AM to finish this and tried to proofread it, but I'm sure I've left some stupid mistakes. Please don't mind them, I'll try to fix it in the morning.

The weekend was one huge blur of Newt tearing Minho away from his biology book to watch a movie or go for a walk or snog. It wasn’t surprising, really, since it had occurred to Minho on fourth month of their early relationship that Newt tended to become overly outgoing and bubbly when he was feeling genuinely happy.

It kind of gave the Asian some deep thinking to do at sleepless nights, about how money ruled the world nowadays, but even pondering couldn’t break the positive vibe that hovered over the pair of them. After all, Minho didn’t at all mind the random waves of affection and kisses and Newt’s sudden desire to top in bed.

“I think you should thank your boss,” he announced on Sunday evening, petting Newt’s hair on his lap, as the blonde played with his phone.

“You think so?” Newt asked, without tearing his gaze from the screen.

“Yeah. You could buy him a present or something. Just… do anything that would show that you appreciate this promotion.”

“Hmmm,” Newt ducked his phone to the left abruptly and Minho caught himself wondering what’s the blonde playing.

“Newt, are you even listening?”

Newt tapped his thumb three times across the screen, eyes glued to whatever was happening inside the game.  “What?”

Minho squinted in annoyance. For a second he considered to cease playing with Newt’s hair, but then thought better of it. He tugged lightly at the blonde strands, throwing Newt’s head back and leaned down, planting a brief kiss on those chapped lips.

“Are you listening now?” he asked with a satisfied smile, straightening his back again.

Newt’s phone dropped on top of his chest as the blonde stretched his hands up to cradle Minho’s chin. “Do that again,” he demanded softly, with a hint of a smile.

“I was saying,” Minho stated firmly, brushing Newt’s hands away, “that you should buy something for your boss. You know, to thank him.”

“What would I buy him?”

“Uh, I don’t know. A bobblehead? I heard they help when you need some distraction from work.”

Newt wrinkled his nose to acknowledge how stupid the idea was.

Minho took a moment. “Maybe some fancy pen in some cool box?”

“Those’re expensive as fuck.”

“Wine?”

Newt’s eyes shot up to the Asian’s face at that. “That could work.”

“Yeah. Get up, let’s go to the store before it gets too dark.”

Newt attempted a weak protest, using “but we could make out instead of going now” as an argument, but Minho was firmly determined to thank Mr. Janson for solving all their financial problems with one easy offer of salary increase, even if illegal.

* * *

“You wanted to see me, Newton?” Janson didn’t look up from his papers as he spoke and somehow that made Newt feel better about having a bottle of wine clutched awkwardly in his fingers.

“I just wanted to thank you, Sir,” he said humbly, putting the treat on top of Janson’s desk with a dull clank. “For believing in my, er.. potential. The promotion does help immensely.”

The man’s blue eyes darted to the bottle and then straight at Newt; something indistinguishable danced in them, as if scanning the blonde’s entire being through.

“You received your first payment, then?” Janson put all the papers aside and gave his full attention to Newt, which made the latter’s bones shudder nervously.

“I sure did, it was very generous as you have promised. I’ve even bought a new-”

“Good.” During his four months of work here, Newt had taken a notice of Janson’s habit to interrupt people without feeling the slightest bit bad about it. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you actually, Isaac. Please, shut the door.”

Seeing as the door wasn’t ajar, Newt assumed he was to lock it with the key that stuck out from under the handle. He thought it made sense; it would probably be foolish to discuss his illegal salary with the risk of having eavesdroppers or interrupters.

“You’re a very talented young boy,” Janson said once Newt faced him again. “How old, again?”

“24.”

Newt wasn’t sure whether it was his imagination playing tricks on him or Janson’s eyes actually glinted with excitement, but he chose to ignore it in any case.

“Very nice, a very nice age indeed.” The man nodded satisfyingly and gestured for Newt to sit down; then poured them both some of the wine Newt brought, into glasses that he pulled out from his second drawer.

_Who on Earth keeps glasses in the drawers of their desks?_

“I can’t quite grasp how extraordinary you are, Isaac,” Janson sipped the crimson liquid gingerly, barely moistening the edge of his lips. “Ideas like yours… we haven’t had such mind in a very long while! I am truly impressed… and with the looks of yours, you surely are able to charm your way to the top!”

Newt unintentionally raised an eyebrow, fiddling with his own glass.

“Have you ever been told that you have very handsome features, dear boy? It is probably no surprise I’ve taken a liking to you.”

Janson put his glass on the table and stood up from his chair to approach Newt, who instinctively jumped up to his feet because he could not have the audacity to sit when his boss was standing. He was mere inches away from the blonde now, seemingly surveying every millimeter of Newt’s face, pupils darting back and forth, up and down. Newt prayed to the heavens above that his crazed heartbeat wasn’t audible, despite his and his boss’s proximity.

And then it happened. Janson brushed a cold, rough hand against Newt’s cheek in a way that an employer never ought to touch his employee. Newt’s stomach clenched.

“Sir, what are you…?”

“Surely you did not think I’d only given you a promotion at such short notice because of your exceptional talent? My boy, I considered you clever, you couldn’t possibly appear this naive now? I was sure you knew what you’re signing up to.”

Janson’s eyes devoured hungrily, gaining more glow with every passing second of such closeness to Newt’s face and his thumb rubbed the skin over Newt’s cheek. The man only tightened his grip on Newt’s face when the boy flinched at the touch.

“I thought- I don’t- I-"

“You ought to pay me back, Isaac.”

Janson started to lean in very slowly and panic flooded though Newt, shaking his senses all the way to the bottom. If he thought he felt speechless when he’d been offered the promotion, he surely couldn’t have imagined what would await for him only a few days after. 

“I’m seeing someone!” he cried desperately, voice a little louder and slightly more high-pitched than he intended it to be.

Janson stopped moving and pierced the boy with an intent gaze. “That doesn’t matter now, does it?”

It hit Newt harder than it should have. Somehow, the realness of this whole situation only just started to sink in; yet still it felt so silly and impossible, Newt couldn’t understand whether this was the reality or just a stupid dream. Before he knew what was happening, Janson started unbuttoning the blonde’s shirt. Newt pushed the man’s hands away only on the third button, heart pounding with shock so hard, he thought it would rip out of his ribcage. 

“Do not anger me, Isaac. You are going to do what I say.”

“I am not! I will resign, this is-”

“Then, my dear friend, I am sure the police will love to hear our lovely little chat from a few weeks ago, where you so kindly agreed to break the law in sake of getting more money than you ought to.”

“You can’t-”

“Of course I can. I have the recording safely hidden. They will have no difficulty believing such a respected man as me. Perhaps I’ll present it as though I had the urge to test my new assistant in order to check whether he is trustworthy and law-abiding. Or maybe I'll just show them the records of your bank account, and tell them you stole the money? Now, what do you say?”

Newt gaped. His body had the weird need to jerk, to do some abrupt movement that would jolt him awake from this reckless dream. His knees went weak and for a horrible, dreadful second Newt thought he was going to collapse, but the thought of what Janson might do to his unconscious body in that case kept him on his feet.

“I’m not going to play your game!” he said, inputting as much steel as he could muster into his shaking voice. 

“I must remind you that you are choosing between getting into trouble with the law and obeying me, Isaac. Now, take your short off, I need to see your chest. No need to worry, I will take things slow for your sake, I am a patient man.”

Newt blinked, confused, bewildered, scared. He quickly calculated his chances of fleeing. The door was locked and the realization that he shut himself inside with this man using his own two hands only made this state of internal panic worse.

“I won’t,” he said at last.

“Then please will you pass me the phone so that I can ring the poli-"

“I will tell them the truth!”

Janson’s eyes flared with fury and Newt shrunk in size at the mere sight of that raging blue storm. “You foolish boy, it’s your word against mine!”

“I’m not- you can’t do this! I will return your money, i agree to get my old salary back, it was enough to pay for Minho’s education and buy a few things-”

“I am afraid that won’t do.” And then, as though he didn’t look ready to murder only a second ago, Janson was calm and collected again. 

“But-”

“Do take off your shit. I am not going to touch you much just yet. Not today, at least.”

Newt slowly unbuttoned his shirt with violently shaking hands, deciding that it would be better to do this himself than having Janson do it. When the fabric was slid off his shoulders, Janson’s eyes raked maniacally over the blonde’s bare chest and abdomen.

“Glorious,” he murmured, hand reaching out.

When he touched Newt’s skin, Newt winced, all hairs on his body quivering. Janson ran palms all along Newt’s upper body with weirdly awestruck eyes.

“Flawless though Newton, you are. This is a jackpot. I sense I will have a lot of fun with you.“

“Sir, please…" Newt whispered, eyes watering from this enormous emotional rollercoaster he’s managed to go through within the last few minutes. 

“I do love it when you call me Sir. Keep it up, shall you?” Janson stated, glancing briefly at the single tear that made its path down Newt’s cheek. “Now, get a grip on yourself, I might not look so but I will quite easily lose my temper if you irritate me.”

Newt wiped the tear away quickly, then let his hands hang on his sides.

Janson cupped Newt's shoulders and ran his palms up and down Newt's bare arms, feeling each curve of lean muscle and enjoying the friction it caused. Newt shook his head in dumb disbelief and took a careful step back, freeing himself from Janson’s grip.

"Sir, this is inappropriate, you can't be doing this. I'm not going to keep quiet."

"I believe you will."

The strictness and confidence in Janson’s voice were enough for Newt to know that this is it. There’s no escaping. Nonetheless, he chose to ask, "What makes you think that?"

Janson looked at him for a long moment and Newt decided to reach out for his shirt on the floor but the older man kicked it away with his huge foot.

"First of all, it’s the fact that you are standing half-naked and obedient in front of me, which is quite obviously a victory for me. Then, I daresay, you need my money. What was it- Minho, if I'm not mistaken? Did you say you needed to pay for said person's education?"

Newt froze, heart basically jumping out of his chest. He suddenly felt like tackling Janson and ripping his throat apart with teeth. "Leave Minho out of this.”

Janson smiled malevolently. "Your younger sibling, I suppose?"

Newt’s heart clenched in fear. He knew that he should lie, but found it too dangerous, seeing as now he wasn’t at all sure what’s Janson capable of.

"He is my partner,” the boy announced so quietly, it was almost inaudible. Almost.

"As in romantic partner?"

Newt nodded.

Janson’s smile unnaturally widened, turning into that of a hyena. "Yes, I thought I would be right in my guess of your gender preference. Well, this only makes things better for us, doesn't it? I expect you're smart enough to figure that if you try to escape our little deal, I will have to (to my great pity) give you up to the police. I shall warn you that if you create problems I will make sure you get the roughest punishment there is. How does this sound?"

"You can't do this!!!" Newt yelled in a desperate outburst.

Janson instantly grabbed his hair with a hard fist. Newt let out a yelp and tried to get away but Janson's grip was firm; his skull felt like it’s about to burst open.

"Keep your voice down if you don't want problems, Isaac! I will not tolerate my employees shouting at me. You will do as you are told, for your own and for Minho's sake and you will keep quiet about it unless you want trouble. Understand?"

Newt shook his head at first but then Janson gripped his hair tighter and Newt had to nod because it hurt and because he pretty much gave up.

"Good. Now dress yourself and get out of here, I don’t feel like playing with you today anymore. You ruined the mood with your pointless arguments."

Newt hardly kept himself from falling when his hair was released. He felt humiliated. Slightly afraid to bend over, he somehow picked up his shirt from the floor with a foot and put it on without even glancing at it. With one last look at Janson, the blonde unlocked the door and stormed out, slamming it behind him. 

The clock on the wall showed 20:30. The entire department should be deserted by now; the workday ended at eight on point. Thinking that Minho would probably be worried, Newt grabbed his keys and sprinted to the exit door.

His limbs still shook slightly and his heartbeat’s pace was faster than it ought to be. Considering driving in this state for a moment, he hesitated, hand clutched around the door handle. Slowly, with much displeasure, he let go of it and tossed his keys back to his desk.

Then he made his way to the office bathroom and stared at his reflection for long and silent 15 minutes, splashing his face with cold water occasionally. His mind should have been racing, but it was oddly blank. He didn’t really understand what’s going on and today’s events seemed like a distant red light, blinking somewhere inside his head, warning about the danger of ever returning to this place again.

* * *

When Newt got home, Minho greeted him with a very worried face, badly disguised under a mask of anger.

“WHERE’VE YOU BEEN?!” he bellowed, watching as Newt tossed his shoes away like always and hung his coat.

“I would’ve called but my phone was dead, Min,” the blonde said tiredly.

Minho sighed. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice soft.

Newt nodded and followed his boyfriend to the kitchen for dinner. As they waited for the dishes to warm up in the microwave, (Minho gave up after warming them twice whilst waiting for Newt, deciding on leaving them to cool until Newt got home) none spoke a word. Minho was eyeing Newt curiously, but didn’t show any signs of trying to interact.

Newt didn’t mind that in the slightest.

“So. What kept you so late?” the Asian spoke at last, when they were halfway through the meal.

"Just… a loaded day,” Newt explained, chewing on his spaghetti.

"Well yeah I guess they'll give you more work now you're receiving so much money,” Minho nodded, tone suddenly lighter and easier. “Are you sure you can cope with it?"

"Yeah, it's all right, Min.”

“Newt,” Minho set his fork aside and tipped Newt’s chin towards himself with a gentle finger. “You can be honest with me, you know that, right? Don’t overwork yourself. You’ll get stressed and tired and-“

“I’m fine, honestly. What makes you think I’m not?” 

Minho took in the other boy’s face for a moment. “You seem distressed,” he said and Newt sighed, not even surprised at how easily Minho could read him.

“If I feel like it’s too much, I’ll do something about it. I’ll tell you, okay?” Newt reassured, giving Minho a faint smile that Minho bought or pretended to.

After dinner Newt kissed Minho goodbye and, announcing that he’s exhausted, marched down to their bedroom. As he turned his back on the Asian to go, Minho gasped.

“What?” Newt yawned, casting him a look over his shoulder.

Minho looked at his face for a second. “Are you sure there's nothing you wanna tell me about?” he said slowly.

Newt had to win a tiny but fairly tough mental battle, keeping his face straight right then. "I told you I'm just tired today," he opted to say and it came out a little too cheerful to be genuine.

"Newt," Minho scowled, standing up. "Take your shirt off."

"What?"

Without hesitation, Minho approached Newt and started unbuttoning the blonde's shirt with clumsy fingers, ripping a couple of buttons in exasperation when he couldn't get them undone. 

Newt pushed him away, confused. "Min, I'm not really in the mood for sex right now."

Minho pushed the shirt off his shoulders and held it in his hand from the collar. "What the fuck is this?" he demanded. 

Newt shivered, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the cold air on his naked torso, or the sight before him. Minho was pointing at a footprint on the back of his shirt, big and black and ugly. 

"I-" Newt hugged himself, feeling a little dumb. "It's - it's probably mine, I- I sweat a lot in the office because it's hot and I took my shirt off to use some deodorant in the bathroom - I probably stepped on it accidentally, it's not a big deal. I'll - I'll wash it later, I - stop looking at me like that, Minho, oh my god. I'm going to sleep. Good night." He swayed for a moment, keen on making more excuses to sound more convincing, but then decided against it. "I'm sorry - I'll just - oh, fuck it. Bye." He kissed Minho's cheek quickly, and disappeared into the bedroom. 

Minho reluctantly followed him. 

* * *

 _New text message to: Thomas._  
_“Dude, I need your help. There was a fucking footprint on the back of Newt’s shirt, definitely not his own. Something’s happening. Text me back asap."_


	4. Property Of Janson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ughh. I don't really like this chapter (have been staring at it for days, hesitating to publish) but it has to be uploaded for the sake of the plot:/
> 
> warnings: non-con/harassment

Next morning Newt went into the office feeling downright scared. Which was a humiliating feeling. It was irrational, because when he thought about it, Newt knew he’d knock Janson out with one fairly aimed punch; yet when he remembered the man’s piercing glare and the way it made Newt’s knees shake in petrifaction, it completely messed his brain up.

Never before had he felt his legs betraying his weight. The boy couldn’t understand what was so intimidating about Janson that stopped literally all his instincts of fighting the man off. Despite his age, Janson more than definitely wasn’t a weakling, but Newt was young and Newt had a boyfriend that would drag him into the gym occasionally. He could take his boss without a second glance.

A row of ice cold goosebumps ran down his spine when the intercom on his desk buzzed. All confidence left Newt with one sharp exhale as he heard Janson’s voice fill the air around him. He made sure to click the record button on his phone and stuff it securely in his pocket before entering the man’s office, but in vain. Janson merely called him in to discuss some changes in the customers’ interest statistics.

Newt flinched at the sound of Janson’s voice every single time, yet the man hasn’t even shown a hint of trying to get to the blonde. His speech, ever so formal, remained calm and balanced and Newt started doubting whether he actually might have just dreamed the unpleasant encounter of the day before.

Sure enough, he was on the edge when a week of nothing at all happened. Seven days of questioning his sanity, wondering whether he’s conjured that conversation with Janson where he was told he was going to become a toy for the man’s pleasure. A week of curt and snapped conversations and denied kisses with Minho. An entire week of slow torture.

And then, on Tuesday, his intercom buzzed ten minutes before departure.

Newt stared at the device for a second. It was 19:50 and for some reason it made Newt feel uneasy. He typed a quick message to Minho, saying that he might be late and probably won't make it to dinner. Then, just like every other day of the previous week, he tapped the record button on his phone and hid it in the pocket of his pants.

“Come in,” the usual invitation sounded plain as ever when Newt knocked.

Once inside, he made sure to leave the door ajar behind him, just in case.

Janson’s eyes left the computer briefly, focusing on the blonde's face and the man smiled a genuine, ugly smile. "Shut the door, please."

That’s when Newt knew he was screwed. Utterly, entirely screwed.

He didn’t dare to move.

"Isaac. Shut the door," Janson repeated slowly and there was something dangerous in his undertone, something that told Newt he would regret disobeying the man’s order.

With a painful inhale of air that somehow seemed to lack any oxygen, Newt turned the key in the lock and heard a click, shutting him away from freedom. His eyes met Janson’s hesitantly.

The next words coming from the man were perhaps the least he expected. 

"Will you please show me your phone, dear boy?"

Newt’s hand automatically covered his pocket. "My battery is low, I don’t think-“

“Isaac,” Janson’s smile was strained, a hint of impatience in it. “I am not stupid. Please, hand me over the phone or camera or whatever you have brought with you today.”

Newt’s heart dropped. How did Janson know?

“You are not the first nor the last young man I have taken interest in," the older man explained. "You lot act similarly stupid when placed in given circumstances. Now pass it over to me, please."

Newt didn't want to obey and he hastily estimated what chances he had of escaping this situation. Perhaps he could hit Janson and run... but the man hasn't said anything suspicious, so the recording would not give Newt any excuse for punching him. There'd be no prove of provocation. 

"I refuse to be your toy," the boy said, trying to draw Janson into a trap, make him admit to harassment. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Janson said neatly, flashing a malevolent grin. "Your phone," he repeated dully.

Newt, however, knew that the moment his device was handed over, he'd have no chances of fleeing. He wasn't about to give in.

"I don't think it's in your power to require my personal possessions, Sir."

"So you're planning to show this recording to the police then, aren't you? Report on me? Perhaps the officers will find interesting that you have made an illegal deal with me, don't you think? It will certainly be hard for you to pay the fine they'll punish you with, along with returning the excessive money you _stole_ from our company AND taking care of your family." 

Janson's hand was in the air, waiting for Newt to give up his phone. Newt's confidence faltered. Then completely vanished. 

As the phone was passed over and the useless recording Newt had made was deleted, Janson smiled.

“Now. Please return to the position we left a week back. Shirt off and stand still.”

"No."

"Take it off." It was evident in Janson's voice that he was starting to get irritated.

Newt’s respiration shuddered in realization. It was really going to happen and there was nothing he could do about it without harming himself or Minho. His brain raked for possible chances of salvation for one last time, before Newt gave up.

"What are you going to do to me?"

Janson’s eye twitched.

“Isaac,” he sighed with resignation, gesturing for Newt to come near, which the latter ignored rather successfully. “My boy, you have to understand. I have the power to turn your life into hell. Rid yourself from your shirt. Don’t make me repeat again.”

Newt shook his head sadly. "Sir," he pleaded, without even trying to control his intonation anymore "I never gave you my consent, this is harassment. You're not just gonna _rape_ me!"

"You still haven't discarded the shirt."

"Sir, please-"

Janson banged a hand on his desk. He looked like a volcano, five minutes past erupting. When he spoke, his face was purple and eyes were unnaturally round with impatience. “This is the last time I speak before my patience runs out, Newton. Put that shirt off right now, or else I’m doing it myself.”

Newt’s hands shook as he undid his buttons and pulled the fabric down his sleeves.

“Good,” Janson said in one breath and Newt saw him trying to calm down from anger. “Now, come over here.”

Hesitantly, Newt took a step closer. Janson stood up from his chair, hands stretched out, ready for the blonde. Their faces hung mere inches away and it felt oddly intimate for Newt to be able to feel the man's scent clinging on his skin. His gaze didn't dare leave Janson's. Up close his eyes were bluer, Newt observed before his own lids dropped shut at the sensation of Janson’s hand caressing his cheek.

The man's thumb was cold and rough, feeling every inch of Newt's face and at last hovering over Newt’s lips.

"It's been a while since I touched someone as young and pretty as you, Isaac. It was truly my luck that I got a hold of you. Open your eyes."

Newt opened his eyes, gaze instantly dropping down to the floor.

"Look at me."

Newt's eyes fixed upon Janson. There was a silent fire on the man’s face, something ruthless and powerful that would swallow him whole if Newt dared to do a wrong move. Newt thought about backing away. Thought about smacking Janson’s hand off of his face, wished with all his being that this gentle touch would disappear and never come back because it was ten times worse than a rough slap.

Nothing happened.

They lingered like this for a moment or two. And then, with a great sigh of content, Janson leaned forward, locking their lips.

Newt froze. His heart picked up a maul and hammered all around his ribcage. His knees felt like they’re about to give out again. The air pressured his shoulders. He shrunk in size, his head spun.

His lips haven’t been touched by anyone except Minho for four long years.

After a few agonizing seconds, Janson pulled away with a maniacal glint in his expression. His tongue raked out and licked along the outline of Newt’s closed mouth, capturing it in a few sloppy kisses that were left without any response. It didn’t seem to faze the man.

"Boy, I enjoy you immensely,” he said with a satisfied smile twisting his lips, hand cradling the side of Newt’s face. “So young… so fresh…” he purred, face nuzzling into Newt’s skin, breathing in his scent feverishly. “It really has been a while... On your knees."

Newt's eyes widened immediately. He attempted pushing the man away, but Janson forced him down with surprising strength.

"Janson, please, don't," Newt begged, thrashing somewhat weakly under the man’s grip but his body seemed to be losing energy with every other breath.

His hair got a harsh tug and Newt felt it resonance through his bones.

"You call me _Sir_ ,” Janson reminded, hands running through the sandy mess of strands, as if enjoying their feathery feeling on his slender fingers.

"Please-"

"Shut up, Isaac.” For a moment longer Janson just petted Newt's hair, but then his hand was gone so abruptly, it made Newt look up to see what’s going on. Janson had pulled out his member and was stroking it with low steady pumps of his hand.

"I'm not doing this," the blonde stated at once at the sight and a rush of adrenaline had him jumping away from Janson, out of his grip, out of his reach.

Janson's eyes darkened, which was never a good sign. He looked as though he was about to yell, face slowly but steadily gaining a mortifying red hue.

His teeth were gritted when he spoke. "Back to your position."

"No."

"You don't have a choice."

"Yes I do."

"Newton, I own you."

"You-"

"SHUT UP."

Janson lost his temper. It was a sight Newt hoped he would never see again. Blood clouded the man’s sky blue eyes and for a split second Newt thought he was about to get seriously hurt. He instinctively swung his fist, but Janson caught it and tugged Newt’s hand down with so much force, Newt actually made a little sound of pain.

Grabbing a fistful of Newt’s hair, he pulled the boy forward and back onto his knees. Once he was seated on his chair, he put his huge booted foot in between Newt’s thighs and applied pressure.

Newt winced.

“I will squish you,” Janson stated, voice very suddenly calm.

The red in his eyes was slowly drifting away and even though he was in no situation to feel relief, Newt caught himself sighing mentally at the sight of Janson regaining his composure.

"Don't make me hurt you, Isaac. That's the least I want. Just go along with it, it won't take long."

Newt closed his eyes, pressing his lips tightly together in case Janson tried to use his mouth, but that didn’t happen.

The first thing he felt was a soft press of skin against his cheek, and then wet spots pinging at the contact with cool air as the touch was gone to reappear a second later. To his utter mortification, Newt realized that Janson was rubbing himself against his face.

He gulped, opening his eyes tentatively. Janson's eyes were watering with pleasure and his hands held Newt's head still, cradling it from both sides.

After Janson was finished, he gave Newt a towel.

* * *

Newt arrived home almost with an hour delay.

“You should’ve eaten without me,” he said softly, fiddling with his portion of salad.

"Well, I _am_ ," Minho noticed, eyeing Newt’s untouched plate. “Why won’t you eat anything?”

Newt’s mutter was nearly inaudible and unreasonably irritated. “I’m not hungry.”

Minho sighed, gaze never leaving Newt’s face and it made the blonde feel guilty and annoyed and mad and a whole range of other feelings he couldn’t interpret.

“I’m gonna go to sleep,” he announced after a fair amount of silence that was beginning to pressure him.

His eyes didn't meet Minho's as he closed their bedroom door.

Said door opened again only after two hours. 

He was in bed, eyes glued to the ceiling, when Minho climbed next to him and touched his shoulder. “Newt?”

Newt shifted, so that he would face his boyfriend without saying a word.

Minho’s warm hand fit the curve of his cheek like a piece of a matching puzzle and Newt closed his eyes as Minho’s soft lips left their savory taste on his mouth. For some reason he felt like crying.

Although the kiss was sweet, Minho somehow managed to add heat to it. Passion rose out of no where and in a matter of seconds the Asian climbed on top of him, still covered by the heavy blanket sheets, and kissed gentle touches to his neck. Their hands entwined and Minho’s breath tickled his skin as the brunet whispered:

“Let me make you feel better.”

Newt shuddered from his head to toes, the feeling of Minho’s bare skin touching his own making him feel drunken and dizzy.

Minho mouthed over his throat, bringing some tongue to the game, hands carefully stroking Newt's inner thighs. The blonde's back arched the tiniest bit, searching for friction; Newt felt himself suppressing the word _please_.

Minho's skillful kisses grew wetter and wetter as he made his way down Newt's chest and abdomen. Newt was breathless within seconds. His hands tangled in Minho's coaly hair and he tugged just a little. 

He felt Minho's smile against his skin as the Asian left one last kiss upon his stomach and sank lower to mouth over his boxers. 

For a blissful second Newt's mind went blank with anticipation, but then, as if someone turned a switch inside him, everything came crushing down. Janson's pale lips, Janson's icy voice, Janson's hand on his cheek... Newt could feel his stomach squirming.

He tugged at Minho's hair again, harsher than before. “Stop."

Minho didn't listen. His lips were busy, pleasuring Newt over the sole layer of clothing he wore, and Newt had to suppress a whimper, before talking again.

"Min, please, stop. Stop." He tugged at Minho's hair again, perhaps a little harder than intended. 

The Asian was so startled, he sat full on his knees, blankets falling off of him.

“I’m.... I'm really tired. I don't really wanna... Let’s do this sometime else, okay?”

The brunet's gaze looked so deep into him, Newt was sure it could see his soul through.

“...okay," the Asian said at last, climbing off and stretching his body out next to Newt. “I, um…”

“I’m sorry,” Newt said quickly, pecking Minho’s lips once and turning away to face the wall.


	5. Don't Touch Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh so the previous chapter and this one aren't quite as intriguing as the rest but they're necessary to make the plot whole. I hope it's not boring or something.
> 
> also, I've uploaded the previous chapter days ago but for some reason the story didn't jump to the beginning of the tag? I feel like a lot of people haven't noticed that there was a new chapter.
> 
> warnings: non-con

Another month rolled by and Janson had been so busy with work he merely called Newt into his office two or three times, every time not going further than rubbing against his face.

Newt felt somewhat more relaxed than before, knowing that the payday was approaching. He was going to buy Minho an actual biology textbook so that the Asian wouldn’t struggle with the poor pdf copy. Perhaps in the back of his mind Newt realized that he’s doing this to make up for being distant from his boyfriend. But the bigger part of him was convinced that he was doing this with no particular motive.

“I don’t want you working extra hard if all you’re gonna buy with the money is my textbooks,” Minho said, eyeing the book Newt had just given him.

Newt rolled his eyes. "It's not my money I'm spending, Min. It's OUR money. And besides, as soon as you graduate, you will start earning too and we will share the budget. But before that you need to study and I will make sure you have the best conditions we can afford for it."

"I still feel-"

"I will punch your face off if you say _bad_. Let me take care of you, okay?"

Minho smiled at that, jumping off of the bed to hug his blonde. For the first time in weeks Newt felt content, embracing Minho’s scent and feeling the touch of Minho’s hands on his waist. Without acknowledging what he’s doing, Newt held on to this familiar warmth tighter, pressing himself wholly against Minho’s chest.

As his head leaned down to hide in the curve of the brunet’s neck, Minho placed a small kiss on top of his sandy hair. It were moments like this that made Newt forget about Janson and his troubles for a blissful couple of minutes.

“I love you,” Minho whispered quietly, swaying them back and forth. “You know that, right?”

“Mmph,” Newt mumbled something muffled into his chest which Minho interpreted as agreement.

“You would tell me if there was anything bothering you, right? Anything wrong going on?”

This time Minho pulled Newt slightly away from himself to hear the answer, yet still not letting him escape the embrace.

There was a tense moment of silence. Minho thought he could hear his own heart beating through it. He almost saw Newt’s lips forming a “Ye-“ when suddenly, his phone on the bedside table vibrated and Newt flinched away from the hug.

“I'm not picking it up, come back,” Minho said softly but Newt's attention wasn't his anymore. 

The blonde looked over at the buzzing device and Thomas's face on its screen. Before Minho could speak, he asked, “Min, d’you mind if I borrow your phone for one day? On Monday?”

Minho looked taken aback, hands awkwardly disappearing into the pockets of his hoodie. “I, uh, don’t really know. I’m probably going to need it in uni… why?”

“I…” So that I can hand in to my boss my own phone and record him raping me on yours? “…never mind,” Newt shook his head, brushed the topic off quickly, hoping Minho wouldn’t dwell on it.

* * *

Monday passed smoothly. On Tuesday, Newt's intercom buzzed ten minutes before departure.

"Newton, is my report ready?" the icy voice coming from within the device alone managed to make Newt shiver.

He gulped down his panic and pressed the button with a shaky finger.

"I have sent it to your email, Sir."

There was a pause.

"Please care to print it and bring in to my office. Fast."

A small part of Newt hoped that Janson only needed the work done and nothing else, yet he still made sure to press the record button on his phone. He’d done this every time before going into Janson’s office but the man never forgot to check and delete the recordings he’d made. Newt even considered bringing two phones and handing one in to Janson to record with the other, but for some reason he knew that wouldn’t work.

Janson was careful and it was hard to fool him.

Holding the printed papers in his hand, Newt stepped into his boss’s office and closed the door quietly. His hand didn’t manage to even let go of the handle, when Janson instructed the door locked. Though perfectly realizing where this was leading, Newt knew better than to disobey the order.

Once the papers were nicely settled and the recording phone was confiscated, Janson looked Newt in the eyes with a small smile. "I haven't seen much of you lately, Isaac. How have you been?"

The blonde’s response was tense and dripping venom. "Wonderful.”

"Ah, very nice. How is Minho doing?"

Newt tensed. "Well."

"That's lovely. Come near, let me see your face."

Newt stepped closer hesitantly, all fake confidence shattering into pieces. Janson cradled his face, caressing it for a moment, before bringing Newt's head in and kissing him.

Newt didn't move, didn’t even close his eyes, way too used to this. Janson ran a hand through blonde hair and gripped it suddenly. He tugged the boy away, face alight with invisible fire.

"I don't feel you working, Isaac. Perhaps I need to remind you the consequences of not following my orders? I want to see you cooperating."

He scooped Newt's head closer and stared at him for a moment.

"Pretty though, you are, aren't you?" he mumbled in a weirdly soft voice, examining the boy's face. "Use your tongue."

And then, they were kissing again. Janson parted Newt's lips and slipped his tongue into the boy’s mouth. Newt did not protest yet he didn't cooperate either.

The feeling it entailed was unpleasant. It was hard to deny that when someone’s leaving their saliva all over your mouth, it’s rather disgusting. Yet, he knew what the man was capable of when angered, so he endured the sloppy touch with no opposition.

Janson tugged at his hair firmly. Newt still didn't bulge.

"If," the man said at last, inhaling a deep breath, "you keep testing my patience, I will leave a nice little bruise for your boyfriend to see, perhaps here." He jabbed a finger on Newt's neck.

Newt stilled. Janson smiled spitefully, knowing that he’d found a new string to pull, and kissed him again. Gathering all his willpower in a clenched fist, Newt slowly parted his lips, hesitation evident in every move.

Janson’s breath hitched, as he felt Newt’s lips moving in sync with his. "There we go,” he murmured, satisfaction showing in his hands running through Newt’s hair repeatedly, pulling the blonde in closer.

It felt good. It felt too damn good to resist and the pure touch of this boy’s young lips made Janson’s legs shudder with utter pleasure. It took practically all of his self-control to tug Newt away after a while.

"Strip,” he ordered breathlessly, eyes closing for a moment to clear his mind from images of ravishing the boy.

It only made his throbbing heart dance faster when Newt didn’t protest. He took off the white button-up shirt and put it on the table. Janson gestured for Newt to fall on his knees and Newt readied himself, closing his mouth tightly and shutting his eyes.

He was prepared for Janson’s slit to contact with his cheek when suddenly, two gentle fingers tipped his chin up. Newt looked at the man automatically, expression puzzled, wondering whether he’d have to kiss him again.

Janson’s eyes were frantic. "Open your mouth, Isaac."

Air froze. Newt shook his head in fear, eyes very wide.

 _Minho_ , the tiny distant voice in his head chimed alarmingly. _You’re Minho’s. You can’t do it._

"Isaac." Janson's voice gained that dangerous note again and Newt slowly gaped his mouth a tiny inch.

“You’re not gonna make me take it-“

His sentence was cut off when Janson's fingers crawled in between his lips and Newt felt the salty taste of skin as it ran along his tongue. Janson commanded him to suck and stretched his mouth so that Newt was drooling slightly.

"So pretty," Janson mumbled absently, watching the scene before him.

His other hand was petting Newt’s hair comfortingly all through the process, yet it didn’t do any good in calming the blonde. His breaths came so uneven, Newt’s chest looked as though someone was shaking him.

 _Minho, Minho, Minho,_ the voice repeated dumbly, like some sort of warning. _Run, get up and run, get to Minho._

Newt didn’t realize he was panting. He couldn’t do this. He needed to get away from here. There wasn’t enough air, he needed fresh air, he needed to get away-

“Shhh, you’re good,” Janson assured, combing the wheat-white strands with fingers of one hand, whilst those of the other were stuffed into Newt’s mouth.

He withdrew them after a while and Newt couldn’t tell whether it lasted a few minutes or a quarter of an hour. His senses grew oddly numb. The voice in his head has shut up, gotten replaced with a dull rustle he couldn’t make out.

"Do not close your eyes. Look up at me,” Janson instructed, unzipping his pants.

It happened mechanically. Newt’s eyes slammed shut heavily not to see, not to feel because he knew he’d do something stupid if he saw the thing rubbing against his face, spreading precum all over his skin, marking him with its filth. But then suddenly a cold hand slapped him across the face and Newt had to look at the man again, cheek tinging painfully.

“I told you to keep them open!” Janson hissed, slowly pumping the length he now pulled out.

His other hand rushed to rub soothingly over the patch of skin he just pained and Newt wanted with his entire being to shake the horrible touch away, but he was more than sure it’d earn him another slap. The hand slowly glided up Newt’s cheek and into his hair, somehow always finding its way to the soft bundle of blonde mess.

“You’re good,” Janson repeated the words from earlier almost absently, not fully realizing he let them slip past his lips. Newt wasn’t sure whether it was meant to comfort him like the previous time or the man was just mumbling to himself.

Newt was looking straight into his eyes, when Janson guided his member towards his lips and rubbed it on them. Then, the man instructed Newt to take it in.

Janson didn’t choke him. Didn’t even thrust his hips into his mouth, although Newt could tell he was tempted to do so. He let Newt choose the pace and deepness, one hand stroking his balls and other still glued to Newt’s hair. Janson made sure to be extremely gentle.

For some reason it made Newt feel worse.

* * *

When Newt came home with an hour delay, Minho had that worried expression again.

"I'm sorry, I've had so much work,” he explained through dinner, having rubbed his hands and his face raw in the shower before sitting around the table.

Minho smiled at him, a simple, reassuring smile that would have seemed natural for anyone who hadn’t spent four years side by side with the Asian. Newt could see the disguised concern behind it and his stomach clenched when Minho spoke. "It's okay. How're you feeling, babe?"

Disgusting. Pathetic. Weird. Wrong.

"A little tired."

Minho nodded, indicating that he knew. "What do you think, we could go out to Frypan's?” he suggested, helping Newt to wash the dishes. “You love it there. You need to relax. We can have tea or something, seeing as we just had dinner… or we could go to the cinema, I heard they’re showing this cute new Pixar cartoon…"

“I don’t really feel up for it,” Newt said dryly, turning his back to Minho to say good night without having to kiss him goodbye. Not after what his mouth has touched.

His insides squirmed guiltily at how rude he most probably sounded. He didn’t acknowledge himself hoping that he’d already be asleep by the time the Asian would decide to come to bed, too.

“…okay,” Minho said, not even sure that it’s been heard, watching Newt disappear behind the bedroom door. “Good night then, Newt.”

He washed the blood away when the plate in his hands shattered from the force of his grip.  


	6. The Best Proof Of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best proof of love is giving someone your trust, they say. The worst heartbreak is having its torn pieces chucked back at you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO so this fic was on a hiatus bc university and holidays and lots and lots of work but now I'm back :))) I was supposed to update this quickly because I have the chapters more or less drafted, but I'm adding new touches to the story as it goes and sometimes they demand detailed thinking-through. So um, yeah, sorry for being slow. 
> 
> warnings: non-con. 
> 
> GOD I hope this doesn't suck I wrote it all at 5 AM

Next time Janson called Newt was two weeks after and Newt still flinched at the sound of the intercom, even though he knew it couldn’t be what he feared because it was still the middle of the workday. Gathering the squirming feeling of apprehension in a clenched fist, he walked into his boss’s office. As usual, he stopped right beside the door, slowly bringing it closed.

His eyes met Janson’s for a second.  

"Don’t bother locking the door, dear boy. Come here. I want you all for myself today."

Newt shuddered at the words, but he was careful enough not to give any external reaction. “Why shouldn’t I lock the door?”

“It is five o’clock. My employees come and go; the time I’d have to spend on unlocking the door for them every time will be pointlessly wasted. I thought you knew this.”

"But, Sir-"

“Enough talking. I asked you to come near, did I not?”

Newt fiddled with his sleeves uncomfortably. The door wasn’t locked and the hour was early which could only mean that Janson wasn’t intending to touch him. Yet Newt still felt uneasy; there was something evil in the way Janson smiled today.

“Isaac?”

Newt took a wary little step forward. Janson beckoned him closer, and soon Newt found himself invading the man’s personal space.

Janson cupped his cheeks and examined the blonde’s face like he always did. Gentle fingers left lingering touches over his skin and Newt closed his eyes, trying to calm the pounding in his chest. He could feel his pulse throbbing painfully loud and just as he decided to take a step back, Janson’s lips met his. Praising hands petted his hair when Newt responded to the kiss without fighting.

Janson thought about how hot they must look, how sinfully attractive was the way he caressed the gorgeous dirty blond hair and licked the sweet pale lips. He opened his eyes to see Newt's face and the sight of Newt using his tongue made his pants feel tighter.

Allowing another moment of quiet bliss, Janson broke the kiss and sniffed the air around Newt’s shoulders, inhaling his scent with evident delight.

Newt cringed. “Sir,” he began tentatively, “I’m usually called in right before departure. Now it’s still a working hour and I have some papers to deal with. I don’t think-“

"Don't mind the work, you will have plenty of time to make up for today's rest. Now before I’m tempted by your lips again, crawl under my desk, would you?”

"Under... your desk?"

"Precisely. No need to worry, it is rather spacious there."

Newt shook his head. Surely the man was joking? His humor ought to be as sickly repellent as everything about his persona. “You’re shitting me?”

Janson’s blue eyes flared darkly. "Language, Isaac. You want to watch how you're speaking to your boss. Do as you're told."

His hands pushed Newt’s shoulders down and the boy found himself shoved into the dark room under the man’s working table.

"Take it very slow,” Janson’s voice said from above, “Tease me. I want to have come twice by the end of the day."

“You’re crossing the line,” Newt said quietly, as if hoping Janson wouldn’t actually hear it.

“I have the authority to,” Janson’s voice was ice.

Newt curled into a ball under the table and reached out to stroke his boss’s length through his pants with a hand. He felt the man shudder and made sure to move his hand very slow. Janson's foot poked him gently in the ribs and Newt took that as his cue to go further. He unzipped the man's pants and stroked him through his underwear.

Newt tried not to think. He tried to clear his mind.

Janson's legs were trembling but Newt made sure not to accelerate the pace of his hand. He shifted his position and started stroking Janson with other hand.

Another overly gentle touch of the man’s shoe to his chest made him free Janson’s member from his undergarment and while Newt stroked the skin, he wondered what Janson was doing. How did his face look? Was he just working on his computer?

He knew he ought to use his mouth when his ribs received another sly kick. Newt inhaled shakily and licked along the surface. He didn’t take it in, seeing as Janson instructed him to take it slow and teasing.

His tongue just slightly brushed over the surface of the tip and his hand pumped the length slowly when a light knock on the door made his insides freeze.

"Don’t stop," Janson whispered and cleared his throat, to add louder "come in."

Newt didn't move when the door slid open and then closed.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Janson. I've brought in the papers you asked for yesterday, but I have a couple of questions about the product research you asked me to do."

"Ah, yes of course Jones, let me see."

Newt received a slightly harder punch into the left side of his chest and he almost cursed in pain but managed to bite it back.

He resumed to slowly stroking Janson and the man's legs relaxed under his touch. Newt made sure to stroke slowly and gently but Janson kicked him again and he took the length into his mouth to avoid further pain, because Janson kept kicking him in the same spot all the time and it felt sore.

Janson coughed several times and the even tempo of his respiration broke when Newt licked all along his length.

There was an awkward shuffle of papers and an uncomfortable shift of feet. "Are you feeling alright, Mr. Janson?" Aris asked.

Newt froze, suddenly aware of the silence in the room. It felt like his heart was beating into a megaphone and it seemed impossible that Aris couldn’t make its sound out in the thick air.

Janson kicked him hard in the ribs, covering the thud it caused with his words. "Yes, thank you for asking, Jones. So what caused the downfall of BCP?"

Newt made sure not to stop licking before Aris was out and the door was closed in fear of receiving another kick.

"Sir," he hissed, when he was sure it’s safe to talk, "when will I be free to go?"

"Tired already, Isaac? Climb over here."

Newt saw Janson tapping his lap and obeyed hesitantly. It would definitely be better up there than in this tiny hell that smelt like feet.

Janson brushed the fringe off of Newt's eyes gently and surveyed his face with adoration.

"Sir, I was asking-"

"When you will be free to go. You didn't make me cum once yet, my boy."

"But you told me to take it slow, so I was-"

"I know," Janson interrupted yet again. "You did amazing, Isaac, your tongue is able to do wonders. I must admit, I overestimated my willpower back there, for a fleeting second I thought I'm going to make an obscene sound in front of Jones."

"Sir, I'm tired. It's not comfortable there, please let me resume to my workplace. I have a report to write and I'm not even halfway through."

Janson smiled amusedly. "You're tired?"

Newt nodded.

"Fine then. Stay up here for a while, you will go down later." The man pulled Newt closer on his lap and sunk his hand into the blonde hair he seemed to be much fond of. They kissed and Newt knew better than to try to revolt; he just took what he's given patiently.

"I love the sight of your lips after they've been taken care of properly," Janson purred, throwing Newt's head back to access his neck. He undid a couple of buttons and brushed his lips against the skin.

"S-sir," Newt breathed, "please don't leave any marks."

To his surprise, Janson made sure to leave none.

Someone knocked on the door. Janson pulled Newt away by the hair, annoyed.

"Time to go back down, Isaac. Make sure you treat me properly."

He placed a brief kiss on Newt’s lips and shoved him down. Newt immediately took Janson in his mouth, not to receive a kick on the ribs. Janon's member was red and swollen, craved for attention, and when Newt sucked on it, Janson let out a low moan.

There was a pause in which the man probably tried to regain his composure and then, his voice was smooth and formal again. "Come in."

The door flew open and then shut again. Newt had a fraction of a second to wonder who it might be, when Teresa’s accented voice rang in the air. "Mr Janson, will you please give me a few minutes of your time?"

"Certainly, Agnes. Co-," Janson trailed off, breath hitching, when Newt pulled him out and slapped the length a few times over his face. "C-come here," Janson _stuttered_ in front of his employee and suddenly Newt didn’t feel as disgusting anymore. For some reason it felt like a victory; he thought he was ready to suck this man dry right then and there just to have him humiliated.

The girl’s footsteps approached and she asked something Newt missed. Janson was in the middle of talking when a cold hand started pumping him mercilessly.

His foot swung and kicked Newt's ribs under the desk.

Newt didn't stop. He increased the pace of his hand, licking the head as he did so, and Janson had to actually close his eyes for a second.

Teresa stepped an inch closer. “Are you all right Mr. Janson?"

Janson just nodded, holding up a finger as if to ask for a minute. He kicked Newt's ribs harder than he ever did and Newt squirmed in pain, hand accelerating.

"Mr. Janson-"

Teresa was cut off when Janson grunted and broke into a fit of coughs to cover it up. Newt watched the milky semen drip down onto the floor and actually smirked in amusement. It probably took hell of an effort for the man not to fall apart in front of his employee.

Janson took a deep shaky breath.

"I- I'm sorry, Agnes. Will you, uh- will you please repeat your question?"

Newt still stroked the sensitive length lazily and Janson half-jumped with every pump. The boy made sure to pay extra attention to the head, teasing Janson’s slit with fingernails, and wondering how Teresa reacted to this.

“Okay,” the man said with a kick to Newt’s ribs, which the latter prevented by catching Janson’s shoe in his hands and pushing it away. He hoped that wouldn’t get him into any serious trouble. “Tell them I’ll be there in a minute.”

When Teresa left, Newt was about to peek his head out, but Janson’s hand shoved him away. The man quickly zipped his pants, and slid his chair back. “I’ll be back in a minute. Stay here.”

The door was slammed and newt was left alone in Janson’s office. His heart raced. Janson’s tone of voice suggested that he was in a hell load of trouble and that could never mean a good thing. He climbed out, careful not to step onto Janson’s sperm, and heaved down on the chair.

 _What the fuck has my life come to?_ Head buried in his hands, Newt tried to reevaluate his situation. He had good chances of overpowering Janson physically, but would that be wise? He couldn’t afford to get into any mess with the police- but then again, what if Janson was bluffing about the recording?

His eyes fixed on the computer with some chart on its screen. Next to the Microsoft Excel Document, there was a tiny icon of Internet Explorer (who on earthstill uses Internet Explorer?), calculator, and a couple of folders.

Newt didn’t register how his hand reached out for the mouse and how he clicked on the internet icon. There were a dozen of tabs about contemporary marketing approaches and social management. One of the folders was a chronological list of sales statistics; the other had heaps of Word documents with links tucked into it; the third-

Newt blinked. There was a number of videos with dates instead of names. The latest was of three months. Newt double clicked without thinking.

It was a soundless video. Of a boy. Bent over in Janson’s office. Newt's eyes instantly flew to the corner of the room from where it had been shot and the red eye of the camera blinked at him from behind a huge pipal. His heart fell down into his stomach. He opened another video from a few months ago and there was a young boy kneeling before Janson, someone whose back seemed somewhat familiar to Newt. He didn’t waste time guessing who it was, and clicked on another video. And another.

There were dozens of them. Different guy once every few videos, all of them fucked into the wall of this very office. He clicked the “back” button and discovered that the videos were stuffed into a folder named “confidential” which was apparently stuffed into another folder called “private”. Newt clicked again on the original folder and slapped a hand to his forehead, when it demanded a password.

 _What the fuck do I do now._ His mind raced; he didn’t have any time for panic. His hands were shaking.

If the videos only contain Janson penetrating these guys, that probably means the camera isn’t working now, he thought, or maybe it does and Janson re-watches the show, then deletes it?

_Fuck._

“WCKD plus.” “240468.” “Katana.” “Pipal.” “Paige.”

Every next attempt to guess the password brought disappointment to Newt in the form of little red cross plastered across the middle of the screen. The door handle shuffled.

He barely managed to close the folder away and retreat his hand from the mouse when Janson stepped in.

_Act natural. Act fucking natural._

When he was tugged up harshly by his hair, the need to straighten up so abruptly made him feel how much his ribs hurt.

"Explain yourself," Janson demanded angrily, fixing Newt’s hips on his lap.

Newt stiffened. “I didn’t touch-“

“Like hell, you didn’t! I nearly lost my right mind in front of my worker, Isaac, what is _wrong_ with you!”

Newt shivered from head to toe. He didn’t know. Janson didn’t notice that there was a folder of sails statistics opened on his screen instead of the chart that was supposed to be there. "I made you cum,” the boy said with as much sternness as his voice could contain right now.

"I told you not to, I poked you with my foot!"

"I thought that meant I must go harder."

Newt was actually happy with himself because he embarrassed Janson. It felt damn nice to have taken at least _some_ sort of revenge.

To his utter disappointment, however, his boss calmed down at his words. "You shall learn to interpret my signs, Isaac. We almost got caught; do you understand what consequences that would trail?"

Newt nodded.

"I forgive you this time," Janson smiled, tenderly brushing the hair on Newt’s forehead, "but one more slip and I will make sure to bruise this marble skin of yours. You will have a lot of explaining to do with your boyfriend if I'm not happy with you, Isaac. That was one of the best orgasms I've had in a while but you ruined your own praise. Be reasonable."

He examined Newt's face for a few moments, rubbing his finger against the boy's cheek absently. "One more climax for me and you will be free for the rest of the day."

Newt nodded automatically at the last part. His hand found the man's length and started stroking it slowly. It didn’t even feel weird anymore – he just kind of knew he ought to do this. He thought that whilst he was on Janson's lap, maybe he could pass with a handjob and wouldn’t have to give head again.

Janson growled, eyes closing for a brief moment.

"I want your mouth," he said, hand lingering on Newt's cheek.

Newt leaned in slowly and kissed the man on the lips. Their tongues collided and it was the first time when Newt lead the dominance.

Janson moaned into Newt’s mouth, taken aback, mind flying away. He felt his member twitch in Newt’s hand at the mere thought of how hot they looked right now. He shook his head after a while.

"Not there," he said, though without removing his hand from Newt's strands.

Newt, however, was determined not to take the member in his mouth again, so he leaned down, kissing Janson's neck, hand still pumping the man.

Janson swore, throwing his head back to expose more skin for Newt. Newt's eyes were closed. He worked his tongue, shivering at every little gasp.

…was he really doing this?

Janson's hips bucked up in rhythm with Newt's pumps and soon he grabbed Newt's hair and pulled him away.

“I do not want to be rough with you. Please, my dear, go down there, don’t make me repeat my request again.” With that, he shoved Newt under his desk again.

Newt still didn't take the member in his mouth, stubbornness surfacing on his scowl as he stroked the man faster and faster in hopes to make him cum.

Janson kicked his ribs. Newt didn't keep himself from crying out this time. He kissed the man's tip and took the length into his mouth, deciding that he didn’t care. His head was bobbing up and down and Janson was moaning.

What if people heard them? He tried to pull out, but Janson shoved him back. He felt the man's legs shaking and knew that he's about to cum so Newt attempted another desperate escape. Janson's grip in his hair was loosened up due to the extreme pleasure fogging his mind and Newt took the cock out, pumping it a few times and making Janson cum.

* * *

When Newt came home, he could barely think. His mind was blank. Also, he had difficulty sitting down and standing up because his ribs ached horribly.

“What’s up with you?” Minho asked, hand caressing Newt’s strands on his lap, a position they both loved.

“What do you mean?” Newt had his eyes closed, and Minho’s hand in his hair was the only thing he wanted to feel. It was pure bliss.

“You’re kind of… jumpy. Is everything alright?”

“You ask me, like, every day. Do I really look _that_ shitty that you assume something’s wrong?”

Minho shook his head and chuckled. “You look like you haven’t had sex in three weeks. Guess who else looks like it?”

Newt momentarily stiffened, looking up at his boyfriend with a face he hoped was apologetic. “Min...” He sat up and faced the Asian on the couch, not knowing what to say or do.

“You’re all tired and worked up lately and you probably think you’re not in the mood for it, but trust me, it’ll help you relax.” Minho’s hand smoothly snaked behind Newt’s neck and suddenly, there was a pair of lips brushing against his jaw.

Newt melted. He hadn’t even realized how much he _missed_ Minho’s touch. A simple contact sent electric jolts down his body, and he felt like a teenager who was lovestruck and dumb. _God,_ he missed this. Without really registering what he’s doing, Newt cupped Minho’s face and locked their lips together.

It was fire. It was sweetness and passion and heat and everything Janson was not. It was _right._

Minho’s hands firmed on his waist, to steady his balance on the couch. Their warmth had Newt sighing into the kiss, shoulders slumping to the familiar blaze that was Minho. His mouth was filthy with Janson, but he didn’t care.

He shouldn’t be thinking about Janson at all right now.

The air was suffocating. Minho’s lips were like a switch that turned off his mind, let him escape into a quite world of bliss. The brunet pressed a dry peck to the corner of his mouth and seeded kisses from his jaw down to his throat. He was running out of skin.

A rough hand worked on the first button of Newt's shirt, then second, when a smaller, colder one suddenly stopped it.

“Wait,” Newt said breathlessly, tugging his lover’s fingers away.

“What’s wrong?” Minho’s forefinger traced a line down Newt’s neck, as if craving to ravish it, but not having the permission to.

“I…”

It hurt. Minho pressed on his chest and his ribs lit up with a jolt of pain. Newt would be damned if there wasn’t a savage-looking bruise that he would definitely not succeed in explaining.

Minho’s lips brushed against Newt’s temple softly. “You’re not gonna do this to me again, are you?” he whispered, voice laced with emotions Newt couldn't interpret.

“Min, I’m- I’m sorry, I can’t- I’m so sorry, Min...”

“Don’t,” Minho trailed off to let out a heavy sigh. “Don’t apologize. I don’t care about… this,” he gestured bitterly at his own erection, movement forcing him apart from Newt. “I just wanna know what’s going on with you. Don’t try to lie to me again. Please, just… I’m worried about you, Newt. I don’t want to press you, I get if you need some space, but I feel like I’m missing something very important and I won’t forgive myself if-“

“Hey.” Newt laced his hand with Minho’s and looked him straight in the eyes. “I… I can’t tell you what’s up, Min, but I promise-“

“Is it because you don’t know whether you can trust me? We’ve been together for four years, Newt. I won’t judge you for anything, I won’t be mad or upset or- just…”

“I would trust you with my life, Minho. I’m just… really really stressed out because of my work and it’s getting to me. I know you are going to tell me to drop the increase if it’s affecting me so much, but I can’t, okay? I just… need some time to sort things out. I promised to tell you if I'm not able to cope on my own, didn’t I? I wouldn’t lie to you.”

The last words sounded genuine in Newt’s mind but when he said them out loud, his heart skipped a wary little beat. He was being so unfair towards this person who cared so much about him and Newt wanted to cry and yell and break a glass or a wall. All he did instead was managing a pathetic smile.

Minho was silent for a long, long while.

“Okay,” he said at last, eyes shining with something suspiciously alike what Newt hated to have been the reason for. “I trust you, Newt.”

 

 


	7. Gentle Like An Autumn Breeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand again I've wrote this in the middle of the night when I'm like half-dead. It's the only time I'm free omg I apologize for any sleepy mistakes, pls point them out if you find them. I hope this doesn't suck?
> 
> what a weird person he is though, that Janson, isn't he?
> 
> warnings: non-con

There wasn’t any pattern.

Newt tried to find one, but he never knew when he’d get called up into Janson’s office. Every day, every minute spent in his workplace was a nerve-wrecking attempt to actually get some work done. Trapped inside four grey walls, in utter silence, Newt often wondered whether Janson had planned his sick game since the very moment he hired Newt. It would’ve made sense, seeing as Newt was given an individual small office, out of the view of the main working area where some of his co-workers sat. It seemed like an enormous advantage before his so-called promotion.

Although it’s been another two weeks, and Newt had received his second increased payment, he was still a little behind on his work because of the last time Janson had kept him. It was like trying to win a race with tons of extra weight slowing you down.

Newt was frustrated.

His mind automatically traveled to yesterday night.

He thought about how Minho made love to him, slow and sensual; he thought about how much he missed this. He remembered Minho's touches and Minho's kisses and Minho’s fingers firmed on his waist and Minho's little grunts with every thrust of his hips. He remembered the way Minho twitched inside of him each time Newt moaned out his name and the memory made his entire body shudder. He thought about Minho's sweaty face and eyes closed in pleasure and head thrown back in ecstasy...

And then his intercom buzzed. Newt cursed.

His mind was still drunk with Minho and the least he wanted to see right now was Janson’s face, all the more snog it. It almost pained him physically to get up from his chair and start towards the opposite side of the corridor. Newt knew the routine by heart: enter the room, discover whether you have been called in for work or for sex, get checked for any recording devices, undress, and obey.

He was currently on fourth stage, hands unbuttoning his white shirt without the slightest trace of hesitation. It would be better to get this over with quickly, so doing what he’s been told to do was and has always been his best option.

Janson looked at him with amused eyes as Newt undressed without saying a word, eyes glued to the ground. "Come here," he said.

Newt approached and Janson pulled him onto his lap. He caressed the young face as always, letting his fingers linger over Newt’s lips for a moment or two longer than usual.

"What's this?" he demanded eventually, hand sliding down to Newt's neck and brushing against a purple mark on his collarbone.

Newt shuddered at the light tingles that the contact on his bruised skin caused. "A hickey," he replied honestly.

"I don't remember leaving it on you." Janson's eyebrows formed a smooth arch.

Newt’s smile surfaced before he could stop it. "It's from Minho."

The older man’s glare darkened, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he rubbed his palm over every purple bruise upon Newt's body, quite enjoying how smooth Newt’s skin felt under his fingertips.  

"You don't have to touch me today, Isaac," he spoke at last, leaning down to press a dry kiss over one of the boy’s bruises. Newt narrowed his eyes. "I want to be the one touching you this time."

It was like someone grabbed his throat and cut his air supply. Newt _choked._ Before this very moment he’d never known how people manage to choke on air, but right now, it was a better perspective than what Janson was offering him.

"No." Despite his internal state, his word was harsh and firm.

"No?"

"No, Sir."

"I thought you would have realized by now that you don't have a choice." Janson brushed Newt’s fringe with his fingers, stroking his forehead along with the movements and for some reason Newt’s arm itched to slap the intrusive touch away.

"I don't want you to touch me," Newt repeated, "…please, Sir."

Janson sighed and cupped the back of Newt’s head to push him in for a kiss. It was slow and deep, tongues toying with each other skillfully, having learnt exactly where to push over the past months of practice. Newt tasted like coffee, probably the only edible thing he’s had throughout the whole day. It intoxicated Janson.

"My boy,” he said cooingly, loving the way Newt’s hair felt in his palm. “I am going to pleasure you. You will like it, I promise.”

"Sir, please," Newt pleaded, shaking his head in firm rejection. He’d concluded that begging was a better tactics than trying to revolt against the man. It softened Janson, somehow managed to touch that cold heart of his, whereas rebelling only made him angry. Newt did not want to see Janson angry again.

"Just a harmless touch of my hand, it will feel good-"

"No,” Newt swallowed down the lump in his throat and said it again. “No. Don’t touch me.”

Don't filth me even more than you already did.

To his utter surprise, Janson gave in. "All right then. In that case, you will have to pleasure yourself in front of me."

Newt stilled. Not entirely what he’d been expecting, but this already looked better than the initial offer. "Sir,” he began tentatively, shifting his position on Janson’s lap. “Won't it be better if I-"

"I want to see you panting, Isaac. I want to hear your sounds of pleasure. You've certainly gathered by now how much I enjoy the sight of you. Either you do it yourself, or you let me do it. I am giving you a choice – you should appreciate it."

"I-“ the way Janson put it made him think about whether being given a choice was some sort of privilege.

Nothing.

“You had your chance,” his boss’s voice said and Newt suddenly realized he’d gone silent for an entire minute. Panic clouded his mind when he felt a hand tugging at the zipper of his pants.

“No- wait! I’ll do it! I’ll do it myself.” He stood up from Janson's lap before the latter could object and unzipped his pants. Janson looked at him expectantly and Newt sighed before sliding them only a few inches down, just enough to have free access to his member.

Newt looked the man in the eyes as his hand reached out to touch himself. Janson handed him a tube of lube which he seemed to pull out of thin air. "Do you need stimulation to erect?"

At that, Newt shook his head and closed his eyes. He thought about Minho. He thought about yesterday. He thought about the sounds that Minho made and slowly his hand stroked his own length.

Light shudder drifted over his insides. Minho looked so hot with his head thrown back in pleasure... Newt thought about how _he_ had made Minho feel so good. His hand accelerated a little bit. He opened his eyes for a moment to see Janson palming himself through his unzipped pants. He closed them back again immediately.

All he could see was Minho. His scent, his brown eyes, his soft hair, the curve of his neck, the muscles of his back, the ripple of his stomach, his teasing V-line, his chapped lips, his hot tongue, his calloused hands...

Newt didn't realize how he moaned the name aloud.

It was almost easy to imagine Minho's presence and Newt's body jerked a little. Not really knowing how much time he was taking, Newt kept summoning images from yesterday in his memory. The slow and teasing tempo they led – which was so unlike them, usually rough and steamy in bed – was a complete torture of pleasure and merely recalling how heavenly _good_ it felt almost pushed Newt over the edge. He knew he was finished with only a few more strokes. And then-

"Stop."

Newt’s eyes snapped open and found Janson in silent confusion. His hand slowed down a little.

"Stop. Don't cum, Isaac."

Cursing internally, realizing how stupid he was to believe he'd get out of Janson's grip easily today, Newt stopped touching himself and felt his body trembling slightly before he started dropping from his high.

"Come here," Janson instructed and Newt shuffled in his place, trying to stuff his hard member into his jeans before approaching the man.

Janson, however, tapped his lap insistently. “Stop that and come over here.”

Newt sighed. "What are you going to do?"

The blaze that turned his boss’s blue eyes into a soundless explosion of anger was enough of an answer. Newt had to obey before Janson repeated his request, or else things tended to get out of hand. He came near and settled himself carefully on Janson's lap.

Janson cradled his face for a moment and Newt closed his eyes. He felt his hair being petted as usual and then he was being pulled forward. Weirdly, the kiss was welcomed; there was something he’d never felt before when kissing Janson. There was temptation. His crotch throbbed, demanding attention, but Newt ignored it.

That, before his body full on awoke with tremble as a cold hand encircled his length.

"No," he breathed, pulling away from Janson’s lips. "No, Sir, no no please no-"

"Hush!"

Janson stroked Newt slowly and Newt squirmed under the touch. It brought relief to his craved sensors, but it wasn’t welcome. It wasn’t Minho.

"Let me know when you're on the edge, Isaac. No cumming before I give you permission."

"Stop," Newt tried to demand one last time, but Janson shushed him again.

He stroked slowly, teasing Newt's slit, gliding along his shaft with two gentle fingers and it was a matter of only few minutes until the boy started panting.

With no control over itself, Newt’s mind traveled back to yesterday night again and Minho’s low curses rang in his ears, somehow doubling the sick pleasure he was getting. Newt felt his muscles clench and he was almost ready to shoot his load when Janson's hand disappeared.

"I thought I told you to warn me when you're getting close, Isaac."

"Y-yes Sir," Newt inhaled, breathing uneven. His cock twitched, as if protesting against the mockery of being edged and then let down. It was almost painful, but oh-so-good at the same time.

Within seconds, Janson's hand returned and Newt gripped the chair, throwing his head back.

"Sir," he gasped, squirming achingly to hold back his orgasm. "S-sir.."

Janson's hand was gone as abruptly as it appeared. Newt managed to take a gulp of lacking breath before the teasing fingers returned. Janson was giving his slit quick but light strokes and the sound of the wet hand rubbing against his skin turned Newt on even more.

"Sir," he whimpered, embarrassed of the sounds that came out of his mouth. "Please, Sir, I need to come – _Sir-"_

"Don't."

Janson's hand disappeared for twenty solid seconds and Newt gasped for air desperately, wondering whether it was finally over, but then the pressure was back and he was panting again.

"There's something beautiful in the way you beg me, Isaac. Something that makes me want to ravish the whole of you."

Janson's hand was rubbing him mercilessly and Newt unintentionally buried his face in Janson's neck, biting on the man's collar to keep from crying out.

"Si- aaa..ahh, Sir," he squeezed through gritted teeth. "I can't hold on anymore, I can't-"

"Keep it together, Isaac." Janson ordered sternly and didn't remove his hand this time

Newt whimpered into Janson's shirt, trying to breathe, to hold it back but everything was too much and Minho's face hung in front of his eyes and his hips were bucking up uncontrollably and he thought about how he looks, withering on Janson's lap and when he let out a particularly desperate whimper, more of a sob, Janson's hand was gone and he was coming without being touched. His body jerked from ecstasy and Janson tried to hold him still until Newt was drained and empty.

Too numb to even think about what just happened, Newt moaned out an exhausted and tired sound but Janson's hand returned and his voice grew into a weak mewl, muffled against the man’s chest.

"Sir, s-stop it," he said, not registering his own words. "No more-"

"Shhhh, it's okay," Janson cooed, removing his hand from Newt's length and wiping it clean on the towel from his drawer. "You look fantastic when you're pleasured, Isaac. I could watch you for days." He kissed Newt's temple with surprising gentleness. "You've done so well. You looked breathtaking."

Newt suddenly realized he could think again. His first clue was a surging feeling of guilt drifting through his blank mind.

No one else had seen him like this in years, except Minho.

He was trying to get a grip, when he felt Janson slowly stroking him again.

"Janson," he called desperately, eyes shut, "Please, stop. Please."

In reply, his member got a light squeeze. "What happened to _'Sir'_?"

"Sir," Newt said immediately, "Sir- _Sir,_ _stop_."

Janson just shook his head sadly, eyeing Newt with suspicious twinkle to his irises. "Give me a kiss, Isaac," he ordered and something in his tone made Newt obey.

The boy leaned down and kissed his boss; let the man part his lips and slip his tongue into Newt's mouth. Nothing really made sense anymore. To his disgust, Newt realized that his instincts hadn’t even considered punching Janson away; as much as his body loved this and as much as his mind hated this; his common sense was still his dominant asset. _I can’t afford being arrested._

Newt jerked when Janson's hand on his cock accelerated. The man didn't pull away from the kiss. It took a few strokes until Newt was moaning into Janson's mouth, trying to control the trembling of his legs.

"I'm close," he said in resignation, knowing better than to disobey Janson's order to let him know when he was nearing the edge.

To his horror, Janson's hand disappeared and Newt knew he was going to be edged again.

Janson let Newt leave his office only after the boy has come four times.

* * *

When Newt arrived home, he felt exhausted and filthy, but most of all confused.

What was Janson playing at?  

"Hey, babe," Minho smiled in greeting and the sight of that smile was enough to lift Newt's spirit a little bit.

"Hey," he smiled back, giving the other a brief kiss.

"Woah," Minho touched his lips in fake surprise, "I actually deserved a kiss today. What's up with you?"

Newt sighed. He hasn't been kissing Minho a lot lately, especially not after he's given head to Janson. He felt like he was passing the filth Janson poured upon him to Minho.

"We kissed a lot yesterday," Newt remarked, recalling the night's events in his mind for the hundredth time that day.

"I had to persuade you, Newt," Minho noticed gently.

"I'm... just tired lately," Newt's voice was laced with guilt. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," Minho stepped closer and embraced Newt, strong hands shielding the blonde’s form from the external world of worries. "You don't have to apologize. You _never_ have to apologize to me because you don’t want to have sex, geez, Newt. I’ve never pushed you into anything, have I? We’ll get down and dirty when you want to do it. I understand that you’re tired. I appreciate you working extra hard to earn us better living."

Newt melted into the hug and relaxed in Minho's comforting arms. He inhaled the familiar scent and buried his face on Minho's chest.

Minho just held Newt like that for a while, squeezing the blonde's form into his body. And if he noticed how his shirt got wet from Newt's silent tears, Minho didn't say anything.

* * *

 _New text message from: Minho.  
_ _"Thomas, dude, things are really getting out of hand… Newt’s on the edge and still refusing to tell me what’s up. I’ve decided dude, I’m gonna do it. We’ll go buy the thing tomorrow after classes. Fuck it."_


	8. All The Lines Crossed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg. I'm... kind of... nervous? to post this chapter. please don't hate me. 
> 
> also, this is the chapter where it is finally revealed why did Janson make sure to be gentle with Newt all this time. 
> 
> (i apologize for the mistakes as usual, please point them out if you find any)
> 
> warnings: non-con.

Kissing Janson was a feeling that Newt always failed to decipher, no matter how long he spent thinking about it. At first it was like eating raw meat or drinking filthy water – not very enjoyable, but needed for survival. Right now, Newt reached the point where he didn’t care about morals anymore – he shamelessly tried to gain something from the kiss. At least make it pleasant.

He grinded his hips on top of Janson’s lap, dry humping his crotch, and angled his head to find new deepness for the kiss. The movements were fluid and slow, eliciting tiny sounds of pleasure from the man every now and then. Newt figured that he must look quite tempting, with his hands planted on Janson’s shoulders for support, and his hips moving like those of a stripper.  

Janson’s hand was in his hair as usual, and the man seemed on the edge of his second orgasm because his lips trembled against Newt’s. “My boy,” he breathed, pulling on blond hair slightly to see Newt’s eyes heave shut.

Then, suddenly, Newt felt two hands beneath his thighs and he was being lifted up, along with Janson, who apparently decided to stand up with Newt on top of him. Instinctively, Newt’s legs wrapped around the man’s waist and the next thing he knew was that he was being perched on the edge of Janson’s desk.

Janson slowly leaned down, sucking on Newt’s lips, and Newt had to lock his arms behind Janson’s neck, to have something to hold on to so that his back wouldn't hit the hard surface of the table.

“Sir, what are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, head tilting to a side so that he’d be able to speak while Janson kissed his neck. “Sir?”

With Newt’s legs around his hips, Janson thrusted forward, creating sweet friction that had Newt throwing his head back. His back arched off the table and Janson was drunk by the sight of that delicious curve. His hands itched to tear Newt’s clothes off and feel the smooth skin of his shoulders with two fingers; to tease Newt with the lightest of touches just to see the blonde losing control.

Today Newt was different; Newt seemed to enjoy what he was being given. He seemed to ask for more merely with his moves, and unable to take it all anymore, Janson made a decision.

He nipped Newt’s earlobe and whispered, with a new softness to his voice, “I’ve been gentle with you, Isaac. I’ve given you freedom of choices. I’ve made sure I don’t hurt you. Haven’t I?”

Newt gripped the collar of the man’s nape and tried to buck his hips up into Janson’s clothed crotch. Despite all the objections that rose in his mind, he nodded his head positive.

“I’ve let you adjust to this game. I think you’re ready for me to penetrate you.”

Janson regretted those words as soon as he said them. They were a hammer, crashing Newt down into the ground. His hands slipped from Janson’s neck and his back thumped against the desk painfully. His eyes were wider than Janson had ever seen them, and his hands shook so violently, it was visible without any effort.

In a dashingly fast second, Newt scrambled off of the table, edging away from the man, as far as he could, pressing himself against the furthest corner of the room’s walls. "No," he said so firmly and fiercely, his voice cracked at the single syllable.

"Isaac,” Janson sighed, “I thought we had connection."

"No!" Newt repeated. "We never had ANYTHING you FORCED me into all of this. Don't you dare touch me."

"Isaac..."

"No! Don’t you DARE-"

"Isaac, listen to me! I won't do that to you without your permission. What we do now is enough until you're ready-"

“When have you EVER needed consent? Don’t TOUCH me!” Newt’s breaths came out at a pace so uneven and ragged, it felt like he would stop breathing any moment. His chest rose and fell and he tried to press against the wall as much as he could, as if hoping to fall somewhere safe through it.

“I don’t get off on rape, boy. I know you have seen my videos when I was away; – the camera in my office works around the clock – you might have noticed that none of the boys objected the act. I watch those videos when I need release. You’re one of my favorites and I don’t need you looking pathetic in the video. I need you in all your grace, Isaac, and I am ready to wait until you give in. And in case you have doubts – I _will_ make you give in.”

"NO!" Newt was yelling now and Janson scowled warningly. "I'm tired! I'm tired of this, Janson, I'm fucking done! Don't touch me!"

"Isaac. I have evidence against yo-"

"Give me to your bloody police I don't give a fuck! That would be better than your claws you perverted sick fuck!"

"Language,” Janson said through greeted teeth with a huge inhale of air. The walls of his calmness threatened to collapse with one light push. “You need to calm down if you don't want me to mention Minho.”

"LEAVE HIM OUT OF THIS!"

“Stop yelling.” It looked as though Janson saw red. His eyes flared with something that could devour Newt whole, destroy him with flames, hurt him with its mere presence in Janson’s irises. He crossed the room and slapped Newt across the face twice, with so much force, Newt’s head flew to one side and then another, his knees almost giving out under his weight.

Then, Newt did something neither he nor Janson had been expecting. He straightened up, raised his hand and slapped Janson back, with equally as much force.

The air froze. Newt’s hand immediately flew to clasp over his mouth in the shocking realization of what he just did. His heart beat so violently, he was sure that it should be hitting itself against the walls of his ribcage fervently. He thought it will jump out and let him die at this very moment.

Janson was silent for an entire minute.

Newt’s trembling hand brushed against the spot of skin he just hit, in hopes to soothe Janson’s rage with his touch that the man loved so much. “S-sir, I’m-”

"Isaac, you have ten seconds to calm down and suck my dick. Otherwise, you won't only be left to police's mercy; you will be denied your job and I will make sure you don’t find a new one anywhere except maybe a supermarket."

Two cold slick claws, wrapping around his heart and squeezing it until it stopped. That was what Janson’s voice sounded like. Newt could feel it resonance through every single bone in his body.   

His entire being shook with a mass of thousand emotions, as he fell on his knees in front of Janson. The man gripped his hair and guided his movements, pushing Newt all the way down to his balls and choking the blonde. White drips of saliva were all over Janson's floor, but he didn't seem to care.

Newt's eyes watered and he gagged desperately, thanking gods in mind that he didn't eat anything otherwise he'd have thrown it all up by now. His hands clasped on top of Janson’s, trying to slow them down, ask for mercy, but his boss was relentless until he came in Newt’s throat.

Newt coughed his lungs out when his mouth was free again, spitting out sperm everywhere. He couldn’t get up, so he stayed on the floor, choking, until it felt better.

"I've been patient with you, Isaac," said Janson coldly, zipping his pants, not even bothering to glance at Newt’s filthy face, covered in spit and sperm. "I've treated you nicely. I treasured this pretty face of yours in hopes to get your permission for the bigger act, but you made me angry."

At last, his eyes lingered on Newt’s damaged form for a moment, before he tossed the boy a towel.

"Get out of here. I do hope you will behave next time, for your own sake. Go."

Newt wiped his face and tossed the towel back. Swaying, he stood up and tried to gain some balance by steading his hands on the wall. When he turned around, Janson was in front of him. The familiar pressure of his hair being caressed had Newt letting out the shakiest of breaths, eyes closed, mouth agape. A gentle finger traced his jaw and Newt expected anything, a slap, a kick, but nothing happened.

Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the tender touch on his jaw was gone and Janson was biting him, hard. His teeth sunk into Newt's skin, just above the collarbone and Newt knew that Janson intended to leave a mark. A mark that wouldn't have been there if Newt hadn't made him angry.

He shuddered. Wondered whether this would’ve still happened if the top few buttons of his shirt were clasped. Tried to ignore the burning sensation when Janson’s cheeks hollowed over his skin.

Tried to remember how to breathe.

After licking over the fresh mark a few times, Janson buttoned Newt’s shirt to the top and stepped away.

“Remember that I own you,” he said simply, and Newt pretended that he didn’t hear as he slammed the door behind him.

* * *

When Newt got home, his throat felt numb. He opened the door with his keys and tossed his shoes away immediately. After hanging his coat and his scarf, he slowly walked to the living room, ready to meet Minho's concerned face and already preparing himself to lie about his late arrival.

He was surprised to find the apartment empty.

"Min?" he called, checking in all the rooms.

Somewhat happy to find himself alone, Newt filled the bath and sunk into hot water in hopes to wash Janson's filth off of him.

He examined the fading bruise over his ribs that still ached if you applied pressure. Newt wondered whether Janson hadn’t realized that he’d bruised Newt by kicking his ribs repeatedly a few weeks ago.

Tears welled up in his eyes, but as hard as Newt tried to squeeze them out, they never fell. Newt sunk beneath the water slowly, eyes closed. There was no air to breathe, but Newt was used to that feeling by now.

Everything felt wrong.

He got out of the bath tub and stopped in front of the mirror over the sink. A mess of dirty blond damp hair and bambi eyes stared back at him, water sliding down his jaw in drops. There was a savagely purple hickey on his neck that looked so foreign on his skin, Newt wanted to peel it off.

His hand ran through his hair absently. He remembered all the evenings spent on the couch with Minho. His head on the Asian’s lap; Minho’s hand playing with his strands. He couldn’t recall how it felt, even though they did it almost every day. The only memory of touch his hair held was Janson’s.

The person in the mirror seemed to be more of a stranger now. Newt flinched away from his reflection.

He dried his body, not bothering to touch his hair (disgusted by it) and dressed himself with unbelievable speed. Grabbing his coat, he ran out of the apartment.

Glowing lights of the night city seemed to close upon him. It felt like a trap, and Newt ran. His muscles screamed after the exhausting day, but Newt didn’t care. He thought he heard someone calling his name, and that only made him run faster.

He ran and ran and ran, knocking over strangers, pushing people and animals out of his way and almost getting hit by a car.

Maybe he should give in? There was maximum five videos of the same boy in Janson’s computer, which meant after five times or maybe even sooner he might be free. Janson evidently had a lot of experience, and it might even feel good if Newt relaxed and closed up his mind.

Maybe, after all…

Newt flinched at his own thoughts and tried to breathe, but invisible hands were suffocating him. He looked around to see where he was and noticed glowing scissors over one of the buildings.

He made a decision in a split of a second.

"I want a haircut," he said breathlessly, entering the salon and bending over in half to catch his breath.

"Sir, are you alright?" a woman's voice asked and Newt winced.

"Don't call me that. Don't ever call me that. Get rid of my hair. Cut it. Shave it. Burn it all, I don't want it."

"Sir, you don't seem to be realizing what you're saying," the woman spoke again and Newt looked at her in disbelief.

 _I don't want him grabbing my hair or touching my hair or petting my hair anymore._ “Please, help me," he pleaded and was relieved to see the barber’s eyes soften.

"Sit down," she said gently, gesturing at the chair in front of her.

Newt did.

She fixed his hair with her hands and smiled at him through the mirror.

"I will do my job, but not after I've made sure you're sober. If you regret this later, I'm going to be responsible for it."

Newt just sent her a questioning look, having calmed down a little, seeing through the fog that had clouded his mind.

"How about you go home and think about your decision? Then you can come back if you want-"

Newt shook his head slowly. "Maybe if I don't look nice, he will leave me alone," he whispered.

"Getting rid of your hair won't make you look any less than you do now, darling. You really ought to think about this."

"I want my hair gone," Newt repeated dumbly.

The woman sighed. "Okay."


	9. Hajas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter you'll find out what was "The Thing" that Minho and Thomas were to buy. 
> 
> I've been excited to post this ever since I published the story. I hope it's as fun to read, as it was to write ((:
> 
> warnings: surprisingly none (i think) 
> 
> sorry for the mistakes.

Walking home was… deflating. The icy wind hit the back of his neck, as if rushing him to move forward. The silence in Newt’s head was almost deafening despite the noise of the evening city around him. Every other step seemed heavier than the previous one, and after a while Newt stopped. Hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, he turned around to face the breeze, letting the flow of cold air wash over his face.

It felt weird. His hair didn’t tangle and fly in all directions possible. The golden strands that he always had to push out of his face weren’t there to bother him anymore now. Newt ran a hand over his head, feeling the sharp tingles that his buzz cut caused over his palm.

It was a stupid thing to do.

Regret sucked.

Only when passing next to the old rusty swings the color of very dirty orange, did Newt realize that he was almost home. He didn't recognize his reflection in any of the car windows, yet he checked in every single one, subtly hoping that maybe one of them would have retained the old image of him. The one that wasn’t damaged.

An invisible weight on his shoulders, the brit slowly made his way into the apartment and opened the door with his keys. For a split second he wondered whether Minho had already gotten home from wherever he was, but then he heard someone shuffling in the kitchen. A small smile surfaced on Newt’s face. Minho was humming a song, like he always did when he thought he was alone. His voice was low and Newt could imagine the ridiculous way he danced along with the cheery music he was whistling.

Newt tried to close the door as quietly as he could but it still made a loud clicking noise.

"Newt," a voice said from inside the apartment, the singing immediately ceasing. Newt couldn't help his body’s reaction at Minho’s voice calling his name. A tiny, barely there shiver ran down his spine, though Newt wasn’t sure what exactly caused it. "You're super late tonight, I was literally freaking out," the Asian continued from behind the wall with a little chuckle, "then I figured you'd gotten home and left the apartment again because the car was here- Newt?" Minho walked out of the kitchen, wiping his wet hands on his trousers and stopped dead in his tracks. Newt could see the slow motion of his boyfriend’s brown eyes going wide with shock, the tiny wrinkles beside his temples smoothing away with the fading smile.

"Hi," Newt greeted softly, offering a smile of his own.

Minho stared for a silent, terrifying moment. The light-headed mood he seemed to have seconds ago died like a shallow rain, without leaving a trace or a hint of its existence. He raised his hand to point at something, but then dropped it back to his side mid-action, changing his mind. A deep inhale. "What… what happened? To you hair?"

Newt shrugged carelessly, but the tension in the air was much too heavy for his shoulders to move with the ease he wanted them to. "I was gonna shave it all off, but the worker convinced me to just cut it short and dye it. What d'you think?"

Newt didn't look like a blond angel anymore. His hair was jet black and shorter than Minho had ever seen it. It looked… unusual. The Asian struggled to find words.

Careful like a wary deer, Minho took a few steps towards Newt. His face was blank, lacking any emotion, but the way his eyes sloped down at the edges hinted at how tired he must be. Without uttering a word, Minho cradled Newt’s jaw with one hand, the other running over the now short and dark hair.

“Newt…” he whispered and for the first time in four years, Newt heard Minho’s voice crack. Minho swallowed, regaining control over his vocal chords. “Please, tell me,” he leaned his forehead against the brit’s and licked his lips just to win another second of taming his emotions, “what’s going on?”

Newt stared straight into Minho’s eyes, so close to him, he could see his own twisted reflection as he lied. "I just wanted a change."

"But you could have talked to me about it first?"

“Why?” the word came out with spite. _I’m going through so much shit; you don’t even care, do you? You would have helped me, you would have done something if you cared. You don’t care. You don’t care. You don’t-_ “Do I need to report my every move to you? It’s not like I owe you anything.” _-you just don’t know. You have no idea what’s going on with me, Min. I need you._

For a fraction of a second, hurt shimmered in Minho’s expression, but he shook his head before Newt could see it. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just surprised you haven’t told me anything at all.”

“Well, what’s done is done now. Can’t change it back anymore, can we?”

“…I guess not. I mean, the important thing is that you love it like this. Right?” Minho’s eyebrows rose an inch at the last word and Newt had to swallow the lump in his throat.

Not trusting his voice, Newt just nodded.

Minho pursed his lips and took a step back to give Newt space for taking his shoes and scarf off. Watching silently as the former-blonde ridded himself of his winter clothing, Minho tried to suppress everything that has been gathering up for months inside of him. He couldn’t let it surface now. “Newt?” he asked warily, keeping his voice casual. “Is there anything you want to tell me? Anything at all?”

Newt’s head jerked up at him and they stared at each other for a long, silent moment. His mind spun.

_What will happen if I tell him?_

After what Janson had offered him that day, Newt didn’t know whether hiding things from Minho would be wise. Maybe, after all, the Asian could help? Why did he not say anything to Minho in the first place?

“I-“ Newt began slowly and he could see the abnormally big exhale Minho breathed out in relief. “Min, I need you to- uh.”

Temper. Misunderstanding. Overprotectiveness. Stubbornness. Stupid, reckless things. Janson’s threats. There were a million reasons why Newt chose to keep silent.

“Forget it. It’s nothing,” he said quickly, tossing his shoes to a side. “Nothing of importance.”

“Newt…”

“Min, I promise. It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

With an expression that looked something in between sad and accusatory, Minho silently turned around and walked into dining room. Newt’s chest hurt.

He made his way to the bathroom and washed his hands and his face. Wiping at them with his favourite towel, Newt met his reflection again. Instead of a boy with jet black buzz cut and a grey button-up shirt, he met one with long blond hair and bare shoulders. A purple hickey showed above his collarbone and Newt’s hands mechanically flew to cover it.

The fabric of his shirt was soft and cottony; it embraced his body with heat and a flowy scent of his soap. Except on that particular patch of skin on his neck, it was like an anvil. It seemed to press down upon that filthy bruise Janson left on him and Newt’s fingernails scratched his skin through the clothing, hoping to maybe graze it off of himself.

“Newt?” Minho’s voice called, and Newt closed his eyes.

_Get a fucking grip._

When he opened them, his hair was black.

With a final glace at the mess he made of himself, Newt turned around and walked out of the bathroom. The smell of pasta and something spicy caught his senses off guard. Did the house smell like this five minutes ago, too? His stomach grumbled. Newt hurried to the dining room, trying to ignore the intrusive tingle of that damned bruise on his skin.

At the table, he found his favourite lasagna and two glasses full of wine next to the delicious-looking plates.

“What’s this for?” he asked curiously, sniffing the crimson liquid.

“You need alcohol. I’m not getting you drunk with vodka, beer is too vulgar and I know you don’t like champagne.”

“Since when is beer too vulgar?” Newt sipped his drink and sighed in content at the bitter taste. He loved when the wine was dry and the fact that Minho remembered that settled a nice little feeling near his heart. 

“I’m not gonna p- shit.” Minho caught himself mid-sentence and laughed. “Never mind.”

Newt arched a brow, digging into his plate of lasagna. “What?”

“I said never mind.”

“But I wanna know.”

“You’ll know soon enough.”

“I wanna know now.”

“Well, there’s lots of things I want you to tell me too, but we don’t always get what we want.”

“Min,” Newt scowled, ignoring the spite that the phrase emitted.

“Newt,” the Asian teased, flashing a small lazy grin.

Despite that subtle hint of Minho’s, it felt nice to have some casual banter with his boyfriend. Newt found himself enjoying the light atmosphere in the room. The joyful mood somehow reignited in Minho, and it was a matter of minutes before he was throwing playful jokes around, the happy crinkle of his eyes ever so soft and genuine. He was cheesy and funny and beautiful, so utterly, unforgivably beautiful. Newt suddenly thought about how ridiculously lucky he is to have Minho. He sipped the wine, watching the Asian’s lips move, retelling the story of how they met four years ago. It tasted delicious on his tongue, and absently, Newt wondered how much it costed… then he remembered that now they can afford an expensive wine. They can very much afford it, thanks to his efforts.

He shuddered.

“You okay?” Minho asked, licking his fork and putting it away.

“Yeah,” Newt lied.

"Let’s drink then. To us," he raised his glass and clanked it lightly against Newt’s.

“You still haven’t told me what’s the occasion for drinking,” Newt remarked before placing his glass on the table without drinking.

"Yeah, about that. I've got to tell you something."

Newt shifted in his seat, sudden nervousness unsettling his relaxed state. _Minho found out? He couldn’t have… why does he look so grim, what’s going on?_

"Recently," Minho started, "you've become kind of distant."

"Min-"

"No, please, listen to me,” Minho took a deep breath before continuing to speak. “We've been together for four years now, Newt. I don't know what's going on with you and I'm not going to pressure you into telling me, but I want you to know that I'm here for you. I don’t know why you don’t trust me enough to tell me. I thought throughout this time I’ve earned your trust?”

“Min, it’s not _that-“_

“Then what is it, Newt?" Minho asked seriously. His lips trembled slightly.

“I- I can’t explain it. You’ve got to trust me.”

“I do trust you, Newt. Do YOU trust ME?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I do-“

“Then tell me.”

“I thought we were just going to have a nice dinner together. Why do you have to ruin it with these questions of yours now? Please, let’s just enjoy the evening.”

Minho carefully slid his chair back and shifted so he was facing Newt fully. “I’m going to ask you one question,” he said.

"Min, don't," Newt whispered. "I don't want to talk about it, please don't make me-"

"Newt, just listen to me. I want you to know that you can trust me so I need to ask you-"

"Min, please-"

"I wanted to ask you-"

"Minho," Newt raised slightly from his seat. "I'm not gonna tell."

"I wanted to ask you, will you marry me, Newt?"

Newt's body dropped back on his chair. His vision blurred. Suddenly, there was an ache so intense behind his eyes, tears instantly edged over the bottom row of his lashes. Through mist, Newt saw Minho pulling out a little square box and opening it. A small sob rose from his chest.

Minho laughed nervously, trying to manage the ring, but it didn't want to come out of the box.

"...Min," Newt whispered, hands covering his mouth.

"I love you," Minho said easily, as if that's the simplest of truths. "We both knew we were gonna end up here eventually. So why not do it now?"

He finally pulled out the silver ring and it shone gloriously in his grip, reflecting, it seemed, all the stars in the universe. “We- Thomas and I chose it together cause- you know I’m not the best when it comes to shopping and I- I wanted it to be special.” Minho took Newt's small cold hand in his own to put the ring on it.

He didn't register what happened for a full second when Newt's hand jerked away.

"I can't," the now-brunet whispered, tears spilling out of his eyes.

Minho went rigid. His broad chest swelled and Newt thought that hours passed before he exhaled that huge breath he took. When he looked up, there was something in his eyes that no one ever confessed to seeing in such open, undisguised and unprotected way. There was rueful, heartbreaking vulnerability. Minho looked like a single word could shatter him right then. "You... can't?" he echoed.

Newt shook his head, trembling hands covering his face, not able to see the person he loved in such state.

"Why?" even without looking, Newt knew there were suppressed tears in Minho’s eyes. He probably hasn't even considered rejection as an option...

When Newt felt gentle, soft hands tugging at his wrists to pull them away from his face, he jerked away from the touch and stood up from his chair.

"I’m sorry,” he choked out, “I’m- s-sorry, I’m s-so sorry…"

Minho’s eyes were red, but dry when he stood up and grabbed Newt’s arm. There were no tears, and Newt wondered whether he had imagined them.

"You're not going to explain?" his voice was grounded, but nowhere near calm. Sly notes of panic in it desperately tried to conceal themselves.

"I can't," Newt repeated dumbly.

Minho looked at him in disbelief, grip tightening over the now trembling arm. In fact, Newt’s entire body was shaking. "Newt, what's happening? Please, talk to me."

"I don't deserve you," the brit sobbed, hand instinctively clasping against the filthy hickey on his neck over his shirt.

"Wha- that's bullshit, Newt, _what's going on?"_

Newt didn't move or talk.

"Newt?” Minho’s left hand firmed on Newt’s over the bruise that throbbed like a reminder of why nothing could be right between them anymore. “Newt! NEWT!! _Isaac_ -"

Newt flinched and jerked away from the other man, startled at the sound of his first name. His hand squeezed his collar tighter, memories of Janson’s voice crashing through the barrier he built to hold them back. _You look truly delicious when you’re scared, darling boy. I’m not going to hurt you._

"Hey. Hey, it's okay," Minho said in a quieter voice, and it sounded like safety. Newt’s eyes refocused on the present and he saw Minho eyeing the hand pressed firmly, almost protectively over his shirt. His bruise. "Let me see?" he asked.

Newt shook his head violently. Minho stepped closer.

Carefully, he started unbuttoning Newt's shirt. Silent tears spilled down Newt's face. Minho proposed to him. Minho proposed to him. Minho proposed to him.

He didn't move. Minho deserved to know why he said no to the best question in every loved person’s life.

After Minho undid three buttons, he stopped. He looked at Newt questioningly, as if asking what to expect, but Newt couldn’t bring himself to face Minho’s eyes. Familiar warmth spread over his skin when Minho’s hand touched it. He felt the shirt being tugged away slightly. Newt didn't have to look to know that Minho was staring at his hickey.

"I- didn't do this?" the Asian said naively, hand touching the bruise only for an instant, then looking back up at Newt expectantly, awaiting an explanation.

Newt didn’t mean to sob, but his chest squirmed in a way he couldn’t control even if he tried. Shaking his head in confirmation, he dared to look at the brown eyes he loved so much. His heart broke at what he saw there and his body went limp. He couldn’t even find enough strength to lift his hand and wipe his pathetic tears away.

Minho took a few steps back, as if pushed away by force and stumbled over his feet on his way. "You're... you can't be? You can't be cheating?"

"Min..." Newt managed, covering his face again.

It was like something exploded inside Minho. Tears flowed down his cheeks in messy rows, like they’ve been pushed back for too long. His face had gone pink and his voice was completely, utterly broken. "NEWT, FUCKING TALK TO ME," he yelled, desperate and betrayed. His teary eyes, those beautiful brown seas still had hope in them, hope that he misunderstood, hope that there was an explanation, hope that this was a sick dream, and Newt’s heart tore with an entirely new force, stopping his respiration.

"M-min, I'm sorry, I’m sorry-" Newt whispered and his nails grazed his face, brain completely losing control over his body. He wanted to yell, to tell Minho the truth, but it would get them both into so much trouble, with the police, with Janson. Minho would do stupid, stupid things if he found out.

“Newt?” Minho tried one last time, shattering what hope was left in the air, making it into a hollow, dark substance that turned Newt’s lungs into stone.

It was painful.  

"I- I need fresh air," Minho said at last, wiping his face on his sleeves and stepping past the trembling mess of a man that was Isaac Newton.

Newt heard a door open and slam shut.

And then, he collapsed to his knees, gasping for air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case anyone wonders, the chapter title "Hajas." translates to "Be Strong" from Dothraki. It is a word used as a goodbye. I'm currently watching Game of Thrones so I'm a little obsessed with all that and also I didn't wanna spoil the content of the chapter by naming it "goodbye".


	10. Another Point Of View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't quite as intriguing as it could have been but I worked on this chapter for so long, that I can't afford to re-write it all over again. I kind of ran out of the prepared drafts I had for this story, so each new chapter is going to be crafted from zero, which means slower updates, sorry. 
> 
> So, as the title states, this chapter is written in another point of view. I'm introducing to you all the character that has been there from the very start but never actually showed up until now!
> 
> I feel like this part is some sort of a break from the main story. It just clears up a few things about Minho and his thoughts on Newt acting weird all this time, and adds some crucial twists that will affect the plot development in future. 
> 
> I'm proud to say that the story's slowly starting to incline towards its ending :) 
> 
> I hope this doesn't suck! Sorry for the mistakes, and thank you everybody who left reviews so far. They're the best motivation for me to keep writing this!
> 
> P.S. the tags have been modified slightly
> 
> Warnings: none, I think.

Netflix.

What could possibly be better than Netflix when you’re a lonely man in your mid-twenties with a part time job in the shittiest of local bars and a hell load of untouched homework for university? Probably a lot of things. But Thomas has never been particularly clever.

Curled up in the corner of his couch, he stroked Bark’s fur with a lazily moving foot and crunched the occasional cheese flavoured crisp in between his teeth. Pretty Little Liars was getting pretty intense, and Thomas feared to even blink at the bright screen of his laptop. The odds of missing something important were dramatically high, and for an edgy perfectionist like himself, it was a challenge to watch the whole episode without pausing it or rewinding to a few minutes back every once in a while.

The culmination was mere moments away, and sweat was falling off his forehead in drops, when Bark suddenly tensed under his foot. Thomas promptly chose to ignore it, shoving another crisp into his mouth and immediately regretting his action because it crunched too loudly in his mouth and he couldn’t hear what the actors talked. Bark’s paws scratched against the floor as the Labrador stumbled to its feet, ears straining up.

“Hey. What’s up with you, boy?” Thomas put his bowl behind his back and reached out to stoke the dog’s back, but as his hand was about to touch the amber fur, Bark barked loudly, tongue dangling over his fangs. Casting Thomas an excited look, he sprinted into the hallway of the flat, trying to move so fast that his limbs got tangled and he almost collapsed. A pitiful little noise followed the scratch of claws against the metallic front door, and slowly, it got more and more desperate until at last, someone from the outside knocked.

Bark whined softly, battling against the door with a new wave of force. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Thomas muttered under his breath, hitting the spacebar to pause his movie in resignation. Ignoring his purple slippers chucked on either side of the room, he made an effort to stand up from the couch and start towards the door barefoot. Whoever was knocking seemed to be a little too insistent to intrude Thomas’s peacefulness. The clock showed an hour past midnight and the way each bump of fist against his door echoed harder in the corridor became slightly alarming.

“I’M COMING,” the boy yelled, dragging Bark out of the way by his collar and peering into the peephole. All he managed to see was a bundle of black hair, inclined downwards so that the face would be hidden from view. Thomas backed away, heartbeat accelerating only the tiniest bit. He was already pulling out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants, deciding who to call for help, when a voice yelled over the pounding:

“Open up, Thomas!”

“Minho?!” Without another moment of hesitation, Thomas turned the key in its lock and hauled his door open. There, under the dim light of one flickering lightbulb, stood his best friend, face red with unreadable range of emotions dancing on it. “Dude, are you all-“

He was cut off with a sharp sting of pain on his jaw, the ghost of Minho’s fist leaving his skin hot and heavy. Bark growled, baring his teeth. He ran between the two boys, stopping defensively near Thomas. “What the fuck, Minho?” the latter demanded, clutching his face.

“You CHEATED on her,” the Asian slurred, words fuzzy with excessive amount of alcohol. “You fucking asshole, you CHEATED on her!” He stumbled into the apartment, unsteady on his feet, and moved to hit Thomas again.

Thomas ducked away hastily, raising his hands up in defense. “Minho, you’re wasted, calm the fuck down. What’s happening?”

“I can’t BLEEV I’m still your friend after you CHEATED on her. I’m sur-sur...” he trailed off, unable to pronounce the word, then scowled in concentration, “SURONDED by cheating shits!”

Pushing his front door closed, Thomas observed the mess before him. Minho was positively shitfaced and most probably didn’t even realize what he’s talking.

“You’re a cheating shit,” he spat, jabbing a finger in Thomas’s general direction.

“That was ages ago,” Thomas defended, hoping Minho could hear him through his drunken haze.

Minho narrowed his eyes, trying to focus his vision on the boy in front of him. “She LOVED you and you CHEATED, you don’t know how that fucking hurts,” he went on, a quivering edge to his voice. “You HURT her!”

“Dude, it was like five years ago, I was stupid! And besides, my ex and the girl with whom I cheated on her kinda ended up dating. They wouldn’t’ve even met if I hadn’t cheated on one with the other.”

“You fuck,” Minho growled warningly, clenching his fists. “Don’t make it look like you did nothing wrong!”

Spluttering in disbelief, Thomas struggled to find words for a reply. “What is this about? What happened to you?” he asked, instead of keeping up the topic.

At that, Minho shook his head and stumbled into the living room, probably to avoid the conversation. He let his body drop on the couch, knocking over the bowl of crisps.

“Bark, don’t you _dare-“_ Thomas yelled, but it was too late. Bark was licking the floor with his tongue, pieces of food and dust disappearing into his mouth like into a vacuum cleaner.

Without even bothering to do something about it, Thomas headed for the kitchen, touching his jaw with a careful finger. It ached the way bruises do before darkening their shape on the skin. After a moment, he walked out with an ice pack pressed to his face and a glass full of cold, transparent liquid.

Minho looked as though he was asleep, but his respiration was way too shaky to believe it. Thomas kneeled next to the couch and observed his slouched body. “You should drink this,” he said, moving the hand with the ice bag away from his jaw and gently patting Minho’s  shoulder with it for attention.

The Asian winced, muscles coming to life. “Don’t touch me.”

”Okay. Okay, just drink this up, yeah?”

It seemed like a shred of common sense was still hanging in there somewhere, because Minho straightened up and took the glass from Thomas’s hands. He gulped down nearly half of it at once and almost spit the liquid out.

“What’s this?” he demanded, wiping at his lips with the sleeve of his black shirt.

“I squeezed some lemon juice into water. Trust me, it helps. Just drink it all.”

Surprisingly, Minho didn’t protest. Watching his friend empty the long glass, Thomas’s mind spun in a small circle of messy thoughts. As obvious as it might seem to put two and two together, it wasn’t so easy for Thomas. Nothing made any sense to him, nothing fit any logic, and he wondered what the reason behind this whole mess Minho initiated was. Most of all he was confused by the fact that Minho was suddenly so concerned about his past with Brenda.

He’s never been proud of what he did to her. He’d apologized a million times, but neither of the girls forgave him. Thomas knew he deserved it. He lied to his girlfriend, and he lied to the other girl too, telling her that he wasn’t taken. This was probably one of the biggest regrets in his life, and Minho should’ve known that. Even in this absolute wasted state, he should’ve known not to touch this sensitive subject.

A vibration cut his train of thought abruptly. Minho didn’t seem to realize that his phone was buzzing. His eyes drooped, seconds away from passing out, but when Thomas reached to his back pocket, Minho slapped his hand away.

“Your phone’s ringing, I can answer for you-“

“It’s Newt.” Minho cut off sharply.

Thomas met his gaze with a confused expression. The look in Minho’s reddened, bloodshot eyes was absolutely devoid of emotion. They stared blankly at each other, a silent conversation that told Thomas more than any words ever would. He shook his head slowly, a disbelieving laugh escaping his lips before he could stop it.

“You don’t mean that Newt-“ before Thomas could finish, Minho glanced at the empty glass of lemon water on the table and let out a gagging sound from the back of his throat, throwing himself up to his feet. With zero sense of coordination, he tried to find the bathroom, hands clutching at his stomach.  

The sound of vomiting was disgusting, but Thomas knew that this would make Minho feel better in the morning. Not necessarily good, but better than it could’ve been. As Minho emptied the content of his stomach into the toilet, Thomas didn’t think about anything at all. He just listened to the sounds until they died out, eyes frozen on a spot near the couch where Bark missed a tiny piece of crisp. His jaw throbbed, ache fading into a dull feeling of discomfort as the bruise formed.

He didn’t move when Minho flushed the toilet and slammed the bathroom door behind him. Neither of them spoke, as they sat next to each other. Even Bark fell silent, curled over in the corner of the room.

“I proposed,” Minho said at last, voice raspy. He sounded drunk, but the steal concealed in his tone hinted that he knew what he was speaking.

Thomas nodded, considering what he should say to this. Before he could decide, Minho went on:

“He said no.”

“I kinda figured that.”

“Newt has been cheating on me.”

“Yeah, I figured that part, too.”

Minho eyed his hands with furrowed eyebrows, trying to clear his vision from its drunken blur. “My Newt has been cheating on me,” he repeated, breath stuttering in his throat. This time the phrase sounded different on Minho’s lips. It wasn’t full of anger or disappointment, like it should have been. Like Brenda’s was when she found out. Instead, it was laced with a feeling, one that looked disturbingly foreign and startling, yet crystal clear in Minho’s eyes and in the sly tremble of his voice. Weakness. Thomas ached for him with all his heart. “He really cheated on me, Thomas.”

The broad, forever powerful looking shoulders sagged in defeat. Minho clutched his hair, elbows resting on his knees, and took deep, steading breaths. “All this time,” he started, "all this time I thought it was his depression again. I thought if I press on the matter too hard, I will break him. I thought he was feeling worthless again and I didn’t know what to do about it, until one day I knew. I thought if I propose to him, he would realize how much he actually means to me and that he can trust me and that he is important and that… and that I really am in love with him. I’m the biggest idiot on Earth.”

“You’re not,” Thomas protested weakly, but Minho’s face wrinkled at the obvious lie he thought it was.

“Four years,” he whispered, as if trying out whether these words sounded the same when he said them in regret, not as an achievement he was proud of. “Four full years…”

“How did you find out? Did he just tell you he couldn’t marry you because he was-“

“He loves me. He doesn’t love that other person, whoever they are. I saw it in his eyes. I saw it in his tears, he loves me, Thomas. Why did he do this? Why did he do this…”

“He doesn’t love you, then. He wouldn’t have hurt you if he really loved you, dude. You’re just subconsciously trying to justify him.”

“He better fucking explain. I deserve a fucking explanation. He can’t just DO this to me! I’m going to his office I want to listen what he’s got to tell me after these four fucking YEARS-“

Minho’s temper was rising again and he moved to stand up from the couch, apparently to go to Newt’s workplace and talk to him. “You’re right, dude, you’re right,” Thomas rushed to calm his friend down. “But right now is not the best time to talk to him. It’s 2 AM, he’s not at work, he’s probably in your apartment. Look, you need to give both him and yourself a little time before you-“

“Shut up.” Every word was like a dagger to his aching chest, and Minho’s lungs burnt with a fire so intense, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Turning his back to a speechless Thomas, who was trying so hard to say something, _anything_ that would comfort him, Minho sighed out a vodka-soaked breath. His eyes felt heavy with unshed tears and alcohol, and as tempting, sweet nothingness of sleep tugged at his lids, Minho let them drop shut, escaping the worst pain he had ever felt in his life.

* * *

As expected, the morning came with a wracking headache. Not for Minho. Well, most probably for Minho, too. But Thomas found himself feeling like utter crap as well when his mind sank out of the darkness of a 5 hour sleep. His limbs felt like they were made of rubber and his jaw hurt like it had been set on fire, so Thomas let his imagination wander to the entire blue-purple colour palette, deciding how his bruise probably looked. Fucking Minho and his fucking well aimed punch.

Thomas exhaled the deepest and heaviest of sighs before tossing his blanket away and standing up. Expecting to find Minho snoring on the couch, he went to take a quick morning shower and wash his teeth in the process. The usual morning procedures took him about twenty minutes, and when he walked out of his bedroom, looking refreshed and awake, he wasn’t really ready for what he’d face in the living room.

The place was silent, except for Bark’s distant champs, echoing from kitchen. Minho wasn’t there.

“Minho?” he called uneasily, grabbing his phone and dialing the number he knew by heart. Minho’s device buzzed on the couch. “Minho!”

First thing that crossed his mind was calling Newt, but the latter didn’t pick up his phone. He thought, for a second, that if he calls with Minho’s phone, Newt might actually answer, but for some reason that felt like a wrong thing to do. Thomas let go of the thought, hand running through his hair in a nervous habit.

Where could Minho be? God, Thomas hoped his friend wasn’t doing anything stupid. He could be drinking somewhere again… it was unlikely that he’d gone to uni in his hungover state. He could’ve gone running, but then again, his headache should be too bad for it. He might have gone out to the pharmacy to buy painkillers. Or he could be in his apartment, talking to Newt like he wanted yesterday… only Newt has work at this hour.

And then it hit him. The idea struck his brain so fast, Thomas clapped his hands in victory.

Newt’s office.

Making sure his keys were with him, the boy yelled a goodbye to Bark and slammed his front door, running off. The taxi driver didn’t know where WCKD Plus was situated and neither did Thomas. It took them a few minutes of fidgeting with Google Maps and asking random strangers on the street for directions, but at last, they found it. After paying and thanking the man, Thomas found himself in front of huge glass doors, framed with a thin layer of metal on the edges. The name of the company shone gloriously over the entrance, and without giving it much of a thought, he rushed in.

“Hey,” he said to the lady in reception. “Hey, Miss, excuse me. I’m looking for, er-“

“I’m sorry, who let you in?”

“I just walked in from the main entrance?”

“Sir, no visitors are allowed in the main building. This is a working area, please, leave.”

“I’m looking for Isaac Newton.”

“You too?” the woman’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “What is up with everyone breaking into this place and looking for a scientist today,” she muttered in exasperation.

“I really need to-“

“I will have to call the security if you don’t leave, Sir.”

Thomas sank both hands into his hair, having to move to the exit. He stepped outside, and stood by the doors, peering through their glass for signs of Minho. He ought to be here; the reception lady’s words only confirmed that. Thomas just had to wait and hope that his friend was really there. He wondered how the Asian got inside without trouble and whether he could've just left and gone home, when the doors pushed open and a girl in a narrow pencil skirt and a white button up shirt walked out of them at a fast pace. Her hair was collected in tight black bun and she held a thick stack of papers in her grip.

“Excuse me,” Thomas called, approaching her. “Hey, sorry, do you happen to know Isaac-“ he trailed off, words caught halfway out of his throat, as the girl turned around at the sound of his voice. Frozen in spot, the boy didn’t know whether to run or pretend that he didn’t recognize the azure sea of eyes that gaped at him.

_Not her, not her, not her._

 “Tom,” she said, voice cold as ever, gazing at the bruise on his jaw briefly, then refocusing her eyes back on his.

It was like the universe had planned this moment, even sent Minho the day before to warn him about it. “H-hello, Teresa.”

She raised her flawless eyebrows in a how- dare-you expression, and proceeded to walk again. Thomas caught on with her, trying to stop her by grabbing her arm. At that, the girl shifted the weight of her papers to one hand and slapped the bruised side of Thomas’s face.

“I told you to get the hell out of my life. Don’t you even _try,_ Tom, I’m not falling for it again.” She walked off, heels clanking against the floor rapidly.

Well, he did kind of deserve that. Neither she, nor Brenda had accepted his apologies after all. Thomas rubbed his jaw, which now hurt with a new blaze of pain. Today was definitely not his day. In his mind, he cursed the day he met Minho for the umpteenth time, leaning against the door with one shoulder. He considered just leaving, and taking care of his bruise and his homework, but he thought he wouldn’t forgive himself if he just left Minho like this.

After a dozen minutes of indecisive fidgeting, however, he almost made up his mind on leaving and waiting for his friend at home, when he heard it. A voice, familiar and angry, ringing from a distance.

Squinting his eyes, he leaned both hands on the glass of the door and tried to see through it. There, surrounded by two broad-shouldered men, was Minho. He walked with his hands crossed on his chest, head held up in a prideful manner. When one of the security guards tried to reach for the door handle, Minho sent him a dirty look, and opened the door himself.

“I fucking _hate_ you,” Thomas said at once, catching his friend’s attention.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Could ask the same thing to you.”

“I came to talk to Newt.”

“No shit, Sherlock! How did you even manage to get in?”

In reply, Minho shrugged. “I kind of just walked in. The girl in reception threatened to call security but before they came I managed to find Newt’s department.”

“You talked to him?” Thomas found it hard to believe that anything productive could have come out of this.

“I didn’t. Apparently, he’s called in sick and haven’t showed up in the office today.”

“Minho, you could’ve just _called_ him and you literally wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble!” as he said it, Thomas knew he talked nonsense. Matters like this weren’t something you discuss on the phone, but he just needed to confront his friend’s choices right now.

The Asian eyed him for a moment, eyes sliding from his hair to his eyes and finally to the purple mark on his jaw. “I’m sorry.”

Thomas scoffed. “For what exactly?”

“Oh, don’t act like a victim here, I just apologized to you. I really didn’t mean to drag you into this mess of my problems, dude.”

A moment of silence followed, but then Thomas grinned. “That’s what best friends are for, I guess.” His jaw had to remind him about its troubled state, but Thomas managed to not grimace. “I can’t believe you just… broke into this place without any effort. Honestly, what the fuck, dude. What did you even do?”

“I asked everyone I’ve met until someone pointed me at Newt’s department. Then I nearly crashed down his boss’s door, to ask him where the hell is Newt. It’s no wonder he’s always so stressed after work, that man was intense.”

“Intense?”

“Yeah. I mean… there was just something about him.”

“And he told you Newt didn’t come to work today?”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you sound like there’s something bothering you?”

Minho scowled at how easily Thomas could read him, and considered telling his friend what he saw. He didn’t say anything for an entire minute, estimating the odds of it actually meaning something, but then, he sighed in defeat. “Do you still have the picture of that footprint on Newt’s shirt I sent you a few months ago?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially, I was planning to make Minho kiss Thomas out of spite and because he's super drunk, hence the tags of the story. But then it didn't kind of fit into what I've ended up writing, so yeah.


	11. One Step Past Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOAAHHH I know, it's been what, a month? Does anyone remember that one chapter where Janson made Newt crawl under his desk and Newt didn't stop pleasuring him even when people came and went? Yeah, keep that in mind. 
> 
> warnings: non-con.

“I don’t _UNDERSTAND_ you,” Thomas sighed in exasperation, fingers rubbing his temples in an attempt to calm down.

It was just a little over midday, sun suspended high above the buildings of Denver. It shone mockingly bright, beams and beams of light making people squint and bring their hands up to their eyes as they rushed to places. Scarves and gloves of different colours passed in a blur of walking strangers; despite this sunny weather, the air was cold and still, typical for February.

“You don’t have to understand me, just call her, Thomas, dude, please.” Minho sat on the couch next to him, a phone in one hand and the toy Bark brought in the other. As if on cue, the Labrador poked the toy with its nose to remind Minho that this is not how one played fetch. “Not now, Bark,” Minho waved the dog away irritably, and Bark’s tail stilled, ears sloping down.

Thomas shot him a venomous glare. “You’re asking me to call my ex-girlfriend, who, for the record, despises me, and _ask her for a favour._ Of course I have to understand you before I even think to do that!”

Bark whimpered at Thomas raising his voice, and tried to push past Minho to comfort the boy, his toy forgotten. “Not now, Bark,” both humans said in unison, and just to get rid of the dog for a moment, Minho chucked the rubber carrot as far as he could. The Labrador barked, instantly turning into a tangle of limbs and fur as it ran after the thing.

"How about  _you_ call  _your ex,_ and just talk to him?" 

The words 'your ex' stung more than Minho thought they would. "I can't," he said. 

“You're a hypocrite, Minho. Look,” Thomas started again, in a softer voice. “I’m really in no position to ask Brenda for anything at all. She’ll just hang up as soon as she realizes it’s me.”

Minho waved the phone clutched in his hand in front of Thomas’s nose. “But this is important!” he protested. “I’m telling you, it matches!”

“How could you possibly know that? I get it, you’re desperate to justify Newt somehow, but I don’t believe this freaking footprint is the same you saw in his boss’s room, okay? That sounds ridiculous and I’m not humiliating myself in front of Brenda for your stupid conspiracy theories!” Thomas snatched the carrot from Bark’s teeth and threw it away again.

“It’s not a _theory,”_ Minho argued hotly. _“_ I’m sure it’s the same! I spent _hours_ studying the picture of Newt’s shirt and I have memorized the tiniest details of the patterns on that footprint. I’m telling you, it's Berluti!” And it wasn’t exaggeration. Minho remembered the day he saw that mark on Newt’s shirt as if it was yesterday – the way Newt stuttered and mumbled something about taking his shirt off in the bathroom to wipe away the sweat off his armpits and accidentally stepping on it. Of course, the lie was clear as light, but Minho decided that he shouldn’t press on the matter. If Newt chose to lie to him, there wasn’t much he could do.

“He’s not the only person in entire Denver that wears Berluti shoes, goddammit, Minho!”

“Yes, but he’s the only person with Berluti shoes that Newt interacts with on a daily basis!”

“You’re UNBELIEVABLE!” Thomas threw his hands up in resignation and crossed them on his chest. “I’m not calling anyone because this is ridiculous!”

“Gimme your phone.” Minho reached out to his friend’s pocket and Thomas jerked away at once.

Their eyes found each other for a moment. The silence that suddenly descended on the room would have been weirdly eerie if it weren’t for Bark’s sniffling. Very slowly, aware of his heart pounding in his chest, Thomas started edging away on the sofa. He knew if he was careful enough, Minho wouldn’t notice the tiniest of movements that inched him closer and closer to an escape.

Underestimating Minho was a mistake people often made.

Thomas let out a yell of surprise as Minho tackled him to the ground, fighting to get a hold on his wrists and stop him from flinging his hands around. They rolled on the floor, someone’s ankle colliding with the coffee table with a rather loud and painful-sounding thud. It could have been considered fun in any other circumstances, but right now Thomas fought desperately to protect the pocket in which he held his phone.

It all, of course, ended with Minho neatly sitting on top of Thomas, pining his arms down with his hips, the black device alight in his hand.

“Give it back,” Thomas whined, thrashing, but Minho firmed his weight on top of the smaller boy and squished him to the ground.

He scrolled through the contacts list, eyes scanning all the names. After several minutes of squinting at the screen, he finally grinned. “You still have her number. How convenient.”

Thomas’s insides froze in mortification. With one hand he gripped the sleeve of Minho’s shirt warningly, bracing himself up on his forearm. “Park, don’t you fucking _dare,_ I’m _warning_ you-“

Before he could finish, there was a click of a button echoing through the air and the cellphone was on speaker.

“Hello?” it was a coarse but soft voice, worn from the cigarette she probably just put aside to answer the call.

Brenda.

Thomas shook his head violently, shrinking into the ground. He was suddenly aware of his heartbeat pulsing in the bruise on his jaw, the one that Minho left when he was drunk. Minho shoved the phone onto his face.

“Hellooo?” the girl talked again, voice louder.

Thomas shifted, tiles pressing against his shoulder blades painfully, and cleared his throat. “I, uh- Brenda?”

There was a pause. A long, terrifying pause in which Thomas braced himself to hear harsh words and know that he deserved them. Then-

“Who is this?”

The boy exhaled, relief drifting in for only a brief second.  He wriggled his way out from under Minho, who was standing up, and leaned over to the phone to speak. “Brenda, hi. It’s Thomas. Pleasedonthangup!”

There was a tiny gasp from Brenda and her voice gained steel. “What do you want?” she asked.

“I’m- uh. Look, this is going to sound funny, but I need your help.”

“What the fu-“

“I met Teresa yesterday,” Thomas explained nervously. “She works in WCKD Plus, doesn’t she?”

“Stay away from Teresa,” the girl warned, and then said in a distant voice, as if she’d moved the phone away from her face. _“It’s nothing, baby, don’t worry.”_

“You know I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important, Brenda. Please, let me talk to her. You can put it on speaker, I promise I’m not-“

“Bye, Thomas.”

“Wait!” Thomas’s head snapped up from the screen and fixed on Minho. The Asian ran a frantic hand through his hair and gulped down the feeling of unease in his stomach. “Hear me out. I’m a friend of Thomas’s. I know you probably hate to hear Thomas’s voice, trust me, I know, but you like no one else should understand me. My- my boyfriend… he’s been cheating on me.” The line was silent, but Brenda hasn’t hung up which gave Minho hope. He had a feeling that sharing the story with Brenda might gain her sympathy, since she had experience with cheaters. “And I need your help to know whether that’s true.”

There was a click of a button being pressed. For a second Minho thought that Brenda ended the call, but then her voice rang in the air: “We’re on speaker.”

“Thomas here told me that your girlfriend works in WCKD Plus.”

“I do,” came Teresa’s voice. “Is it really Thomas?”

“Yeah,” Brenda said. “And some friend. I can hang up if you don’t wanna talk to him.”

“It’s fine,” Teresa said. “I’m curious.”

“Do you know Newton? That company is huge but you might have heard about him, right? People usually remember his name.”

“You mean Isaac?” Teresa asked. Her voice sounded clearer and Thomas suspected that she’d approached the phone. “He’s in my department.”

“Really?” Minho almost tore a handful of his hair out with relief. “So you know him?”

“I do. You remember I told you I met Thomas in the morning? He was looking for that guy, too.” Teresa was speaking to Brenda again, who probably nodded because there was no response.

“Do you-“ Minho started and paused. “Have you noticed anything weird in his behavior lately, Teresa?”

“I’m not sure? We’re not particularly close, you know. He has his separate office room so I don’t see him much.”

Minho moved back onto the couch. His grip on the phone was so firm, Thomas could see the veins on his hands throbbing with tension. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Okay… What about your boss? That man with blue eyes- how does he treat his workers?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean- does he… maybe, yell at you? Is he aggressive?”

There was a minute’s silence.

“So you really think he could’ve hurt Newt?” Thomas whispered, covering the phone’s speaker with his hand.

Minho nodded curtly, shoving Thomas’s hand away.

“Baby?” Brenda asked, concerned.

“No, not really,” Teresa said hesitantly. “He can be a little weird sometimes, but mostly, he’s alright.”

“A little weird?”

“I- yeah.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… The other day I went into his room to ask him a question about the new system and he was- well, he seemed a little odd to me.” Teresa explained. “His face was almost red and I had to wait for, like, a few minutes before he brought himself to speak. It almost looked like… I don’t know. It was weird.”

Minho and Thomas exchanged a look.

“Teresa,” Minho began and stopped when Thomas placed a hand on his arm.

“Look, I’m really sorry,” he began instead of his friend. “I know I said this a million times, but I really am sorry, guys. Thank you for not hanging up on me. I never meant to-“

Before he had a chance to finish, Brenda ended the call. Minho highly suspected that she might've rolled her eyes before she did so. 

“They’re really not going to forgive me, like, ever.” Thomas sighed, bringing his hands up to cover his face. He felt Minho patting his back to comfort him, or perhaps to express his gratitude. He shook the touch away.

* * *

He was on Janson’s lap, completely naked, head lowered in shame he couldn’t stop feeling. Janson’s torso was bare and the belt on his pants unbuckled, slid low enough to not get in the way. They didn’t move, though Newt had long ago adjusted to the length filling him. He wondered what it should feel like for Janson, to be inside him, surrounded by tempting heat, and not move at all.

“Isaac,” he crooned, hands touching Newt’s bare sides. “You have no idea how upset I am with you.”

“I don’t care,” Newt spat and flinched as Janson pinched his skin. The old bruise over his ribs was bright again on his pale body. A few shallow cuts, where Janson’s kicks tore skin, still bled. His knuckles ached, but that was perhaps the sweetest pain he’d felt in a while, because he found that hurting Janson was something that brought him satisfaction.

It was messy. Newt got called up into his boss’s office as always, and when the man saw what Newt had done with his hair, he went out of his mind. Newt wasn’t expecting the blow that came right at his stomach. Janson kicked him while he was on floor, and Newt fought back, but only briefly.

He wasn’t sure what happened next. Every fiber of his body was alight with pain and hate, and he tried his best not to bite Janson’s tongue off with every kiss.

“Careful, young boy,” the man warned, fingers now dancing lightly over Newt’s nearly purple chest, “make me angrier than I already am, and I’ll make sure you _crawl_ out of this room.”

“You won’t hurt me any more,” Newt argued, snatching his boss’s wrists to stop them from rubbing his skin.

“What makes you so sure?”

“You’re not-” Newt seemed to hesitate at first, but then he looked up Janson in the eyes and said: “you’re not a maniac. You’re just a pervert.” As he said it, Newt braced himself for a blow or a bite; any physical form of pain Janson thought appropriate, but nothing came. Pale blue eyes observed him with cold amusement, as if they knew that more pain was what Newt wanted, what he needed. The boy was momentarily lost in that petrifying gaze; he didn’t realize he was still holding Janson’s wrists fixed. 

The man ground his hips on the chair once, thrusting against Newt on his lap. Newt gasped, a strangled moan escaping his throat, weight falling forward into Janson’s chest. Carefully, the older man hugged Newt’s lanky form into his own body, feeling the curve of his smooth back with cold fingers. “What did you say?” he asked, voice neither angry, nor mocking.

In reply, Newt pushed himself away from the embrace and shook his head. Janson cupped his face, eyeing it with a longing in his eyes Newt couldn’t interpret. “You cut your pretty hair just to make me angry,” he said, bitterness ringing clear like ice in his tone, “I thought better of you.”

Newt laughed. He didn’t quite mean to, but the sound tore itself out of his chest before he knew it. “I’m fucking you because I don’t wanna get in debts. You should’ve figured I’d be a disappointment.”

At that, Janson moved his hips again, and Newt squeezed his eyes shut, suppressing the sound he wanted to choke out. Janson’s hands on his face pulled him forward to attach their lips, and then firmed on his legs, to move him. Newt sucked in a breath, trying to kiss back but the erratic pace of Janson’s hips wouldn’t let him concentrate on it.

Janson tried to angle himself differently and drove into Newt with a faster tempo. He knew he did the right thing when Newt squirmed on top of him, teeth grinding against each other in an attempt to stifle a moan. Leaning over to kiss the boy’s neck, Janson felt Newt wiggling in tiny movements, trying to cooperate without even meaning to. He swore, biting down on Newt’s skin and supporting his grinding with hands firmed on his sides.

“You stupid boy,” he said, pulling away to marvel at the sight of Newt with his head thrown back and tears running down the sides of his face. “I will destroy you every day of every week until your hair grows back, do you understand that?” he raised slightly from the chair with the force of his next thrust, and Newt’s fingernails dug deep into his skin. “You little fool. You idiot.”  

They were both breathing heavily, Newt drawing Janson in for kisses when he thought he couldn’t hold back obscene sounds, when suddenly, someone knocked the door. Janson cursed, hardening his thrusts to let Newt know they shouldn’t stop.

“I’m busy,” he called, voice a little raspy.

There was a moment’s silence in which Newt thought that whoever happened to interrupt them was gone, but then a tentative little voice said, “Mr. Janson? Sir? This is urgent.”

Janson’s hips slowed down, hands loosening their grip on Newt’s body. Newt, who was on the verge of his orgasm, whined in protest, cradling Janson’s face and kissing him to encourage the man to go on. Janson thrusted up shallowly once, giving in to the kiss, but the knock repeated, and he broke it off, slapping Newt’s thigh as if to say _get up._

Newt obeyed, sucking in a breath when Janson slid out of him. He couldn’t think straight. Minho left him. His life fell apart because he wanted some money. He didn’t care. He didn’t care.

Janson hissed at him to put on his clothes quickly, buckling his belt and trying to make himself look decent.

The knock came again, tiny but persistent.

“Behave,” Janson warned and slid the key into the lock.

* * *

 

When Teresa heard the click of the door being unlocked, she had only a second to wonder why did Mr. Janson, who never locked his door for the sake of practicality, had it locked this time. The wood creaked a little as it slid to the side, revealing her slightly rumpled boss.

“I apologize,” she said politely, “for intruding at an inconvenient time.”

“What was so urgent that you _had to_ distract me when I’m busy, Agnes?” the man asked, unkindly ignoring her apologetic face. She noticed that his stance at the doorway was rigid, like he was trying to hide whatever was inside.

“Can I come in?” Teresa asked hesitantly, blue eyes searching Janson’s expression. “I’ve sent you an email with a document I need some help with.”

Janson’s eyes hardened. “And this is urgent?”

“You told me that the report is due today, so I need to finish it quickly. It’s five minutes before the workday ends, and I don’t know whether I have done everything correctly to send it off.”

“Very well,” Janson’s lips formed a thin line. “Come in.”

He stepped away and walked towards his desk. Teresa carefully closed the door after she followed, and froze for a second when she found a stranger sitting in the room. It took her a moment to realize that the face was actually familiar.

“Isaac?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Her report, in fact, was absolutely perfect. After yesterday’s conversation with Thomas’s friend, she couldn’t shake away the heave upon her shoulders. She’d kept thinking about that day when Janson looked so disheveled and the weird sounds he made. The more she let it nag at the back of her mind, the more it bothered her. She’d decided to check on Janson, just in case she noticed anything weird again.

Brenda might still be angry enough with Thomas to end the phone call in the middle of an apology, but Teresa knew she always had a softer heart. After all, she too knew what it feels like to be cheated on and she found herself wanting to help the poor guy who was desperate enough to make Thomas call her.

“Oh, hello Teresa,” Isaac greeted. “I haven’t seen you in the morning.”

He looked damaged. Without the blonde cascade of his hair around his shoulders he was a completely different person. Or it might have been the dark circles under his eyes, and the bruise in the corner of his lip. His white shirt was filthy in patches, and his fingers trembled in a barely noticeable way against his knees.  

“Yeah, I, um, arrived a little late.” She looked at Janson, who was probably opening up his email, and made her way over to him. She asked the practiced question she made up as an excuse for coming here, and thanked the man when she received the answer.

On her way back, she stopped at the doorway and glanced at Newt. “I haven’t seen your car in the parking lot. Do you need a ride home?”

Newt looked distressed when his eyes met Teresa’s. He turned around and looked at Janson who gave a very tiny shake of his head, which Teresa didn’t miss.

“No,” Newt answered with a smile that could have looked genuine if Teresa didn’t know so much. “Thanks for offering.”

“I need to tell you something,” she pressed. “Could you maybe come outside with me for a moment?”

“Agnes, we are discussing Isaac’s career prospect and this might take some time. You can talk to him tomorrow,” Janson said, annoyance clear in his voice.

Teresa bit her lip in resignation. For a moment she considered telling Newt about his boyfriend’s phone call, but for some reason she thought that it might be not a wise thing to do in Janson’s presence.

“Good night, then,” she told both men and stepped out of the room. She didn’t miss the click of the door being locked behind her as she walked away.

 


	12. Where We Have Come To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have very little of torture left, for this story is almost over. Initially I had an ending planned, one that might or might not have included Janson being /very/ interested in Minho. If you know what I mean. But with the way I developed things, it wouldn't work, so I had to come up with something else. I had a lot of scenarios in my head, but for some reason this one felt like the realest. I hope it's not disappointing. 
> 
> warnings: I don't think there's any.

“You don’t have a ride home?” It was the first thing Janson said as soon as the door closed and Newt couldn’t help but feel a little startled at the casualty of the question. 

It seemed like the man wasn’t planning on continuing what they had been doing before getting interrupted by Teresa, but Newt still felt the urge to be careful with his voice and his movements as to not tempt his boss. “No,” he answered, shifting in his seat just a little. “I took a walk today.”

“How nice. Does this mean that Minho will be picking you up?” Janson leaned forward, bracing both elbows against the front of his desk, a lucid spark of interest in his blue eyes.

Newt always felt his heart stutter in his chest with fierce protectiveness whenever Janson had the nerve to pronounce Minho’s name; but this time what he felt was quite different. It was like poking a fresh wound, one that hadn’t seen any treatment or had any time to heal itself. It cost him enormous effort to keep his face straight. “What do you care?”

“He is… exquisite, that Minho of yours,” Janson answered, letting a frisky brow arch intriguingly. “You never mentioned to me that your partner is so striking.”

“You’ve _met_ him?” Newt demanded, suddenly very aware of the pulse on his neck throbbing like a malfunctioning clock.

“You seem surprised. I thought he’d have told you.”

“Told me what?”

“He paid a visit to the office yesterday, when you weren’t here. Now when I think about it, it is quite strange that he wasn’t aware of your day off. You two live together, don’t you?” Janson leaned back again, chin set high in a manner of a man who knew he was gaining immediate control of the situation. His eyes narrowed, calculating and deducing, putting together the facts he had gathered into a neat sequence. Suddenly, there was tension in the air, the kind that sent shivers up every inch of bare skin it could crawl upon. “How odd,” he finally said. “He seemed rather angry as well, if you might ask me.”

“I…” Newt started, and choked on his own word. Minho has been declining his calls, dozens of them, yet he came _here,_ to the office to see Newt? It was unnerving to be thinking about Minho at all, more the less seeing him in person and having to deal with all the explanations and excuses Newt did not have.

“Let me spell it out for you,” Janson proceeded to break the silence. “He didn’t know that you are not in your workplace, neither did you know that he was looking for you, even though you share an apartment. It seems evident to me that you have spent a few nights, if not more, apart.”

“I don’t see why this matters.” Newt forced the pain in his voice down, the further from Janson’s eyes, the better. Showing this kind of vulnerability in front of the man was something Newt hoped to avoid.

“It does, though. And the fact that you are not giving me direct answers only confirms my words. Is this why you were so distressed when you entered my room today? I thought it was merely your fear of my anger because of… this.” he gestured curtly at Newt’s hair.

Newt instinctively ran a hand through – or, rather say, _over –_ his buzz cut and shivered at the sensation under his palm. He found that he still wasn’t used to the way his hair felt. He noticed Janson regarding him with his lips set in a thin line; it caused Newt a slight twinge of happiness, to have rebelled against his boss. He used that as an excuse for the next words he said: “It is unwise of you to be wasting time talking about other men when I am sitting right here.”

Janson’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline and it was funny in a way, to see him this surprised. But then, the astonishment turned into amusement. “Trying to draw the conversation away from Minho, I see. How selfless.” He grinned his usual unpleasant grin and patted at his lap. “It might as well work, if you are careful to satisfy my every need without making me angry.”

Newt looked at him tiredly. He felt stupid to admit that he’d actually hoped to make his way out of any further physical engagement with Janson for tonight. “I ought to sort things out with Minho. If you would let me go today it’d be easier to explain things to him. Whenever I come home late, he freaks out and-“

“That,” Janson interrupted, “would have been a convincing tale if we hadn’t just established that there is no one waiting for you at home. Or perhaps he _is_ there, but he is certainly not waiting for you to come. Did you two break up, Isaac?”

Newt shook his head quickly, looking down.

“You took a break, perhaps?”

Newt shook his head again.

“You know how much I hate it when you lie to me, boy.”

Newt’s eyes shot back up to Janson’s face. His grin had vanished, replaced by a hard scowl. “I don’t know what happened between us,” he admitted.

The dilemma tore at the deepest parts of his conscience. Technically, Newt knew he had never cheated on Minho. His faithfulness was taken from him without consent, and there was little Newt could do about it without bringing great trouble on both his and Minho’s heads. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel disgustingly filthy – unclean, in the most sickening of ways – because all the things he did could never be reversed, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that it was not his fault.

It was. Had he not been so greedy, so thirsty for more money, a better life, a _happier_ life, he could have had everything he ever wished for. And the more he thought about it, the heavier his heart became with all the wrong choices he made and all the wrong steps he took. He was so blinded with the rich that he did not stop to think about the consequences of being dishonest, and the knowledge of this was a greater burden than he could carry.

“Come here,” Janson’s voice severed all the ties that held his thoughts together, as it always did, and Newt felt like a child as he settled on the man’s lap and let his eyes fall down to the hands instantly gripping his sides. The man had done a good job of hiding his erection from Teresa’s eyes earlier, and Newt was unsure of the way he should position himself, but he figured that Janson wouldn’t be hard any more.

“If it were any other boy that ruined his pretty appearance, I would have disposed of them. You do realize that I have a soft spot for you, Isaac?” a crippling shiver rose over Newt’s spine when a pair of cold lips left a kiss on the side of his neck. Janson kissed the same spot again, then proceeded to use his tongue on it.

“I’d really have preferred to not have this privilege,” he mumbled, letting his head tilt to a side to give his boss access to more skin.

Janson worked a careful path up his neck and over his jawline; he seemed to enjoy the smoothness of the skin beneath his teeth. “I would have buried my hand in your hair now,” he whispered, “and thrown your head back. It would’ve been a beautiful shot.”

Newt’s eyes instantly flew to the corner of the room where the red eye of Janson’s camera blinked at him. He almost forgot. Janson nosed his cheek and reached out to lick over the corner of Newt’s mouth. Their kisses were always sloppy and wet; Newt had observed that it was the way Janson loved them. He suspected it had something to do with the way they looked when they did it like this.

Janson’s hand cupped the back of his neck and Newt expected to be shoved forward, kiss Janson with more intensity, have his lips ravished, but something changed. Janson pulled Newt away, irritated at something. “I still get so angry,” he explained, “when I don’t feel your hair under my fingertips. There’s no point in videoing this.” He shoved Newt away and the boy almost fell off his lap.

He scrambled quickly to his feet and stood awkwardly a few feet away. “Does that… does that mean I can go?”

Janson glared at him. “Don’t test my patience. Move along.” As he said it, the man clicked something on his computer and stood up from his chair. He moved to smooth his hair with a tiny comb he pulled out of his pocket, running it through his strands with swift movements. He reached for his coat that hung on a hook near the door; it took Newt a moment to realize his boss was dressing up.

“Where are you going?”

"Rather say, were are _we_ going.”

“What?” Newt watched as the man buttoned his grey coat, fixing its great collar that sprawled to his chest. It looked wonderfully elegant on him, and the dull color of grey stressed how bright his eyes could appear.

Janson bent to brush the dust off his Berluti shoes. “You’re no use here, near the camera. We might as well go somewhere more comfortable. _Move along_.”

“Wh- I’m not coming anywhere!” Newt’s voice sounded indignant and almost foreign to his own ears. He suddenly realized that his eyebrows were somewhere in the middle of his forehead with surprise and quickly fixed the expression on his face.

“Of course you are. Since Minho is not expecting you, we will seize this opportunity.”

“Janson, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Suddenly, the man stopped his gatherings. It was so abrupt that Newt had to blink in confusion, processing what on earth did just happen. Pale blue eyes nailed him to his spot near the desk, and when the man spoke, there was a note of anger in his voice. “You are still obliged to call me _Sir_.”

Newt shivered. It almost fled his mind that he ought to address Janson in a formal way. He wasn’t sure why Janson insisted on it – out of cruelty? Or did it cause him some sort of sick pleasure? Odd things – things that Newt couldn’t make sense of – seemed to fascinate Janson and Newt was not sure anymore what to expect from his boss. Calling him _‘Sir’_ made Newt feel humiliated, as if he was beneath Janson. Which he now assumed he really was. “I’m…” he gulped. “Sir, I don’t think that’s- I really wouldn’t-”

“Get over here,” Janson commanded, voice laced with steel. It was so easy to forget this side of the man; Newt felt a little foolish to not have guessed this was coming. Janson’s temper has already raged today because of the buzz cut and Newt was vaguely aware of the bruises on his skin aching. He couldn’t afford being hurt any more if he wanted to walk straight the next day, he thought bitterly.

Obediently, he made his way to the man. He was about to incline his head downwards when his eye caught a movement; – abrupt, almost unnoticeable flick of something that threatened to collide with his face if it kept its direction – his hand flew up by mere instincts. He seized the wrist of Janson’s hand that was about to slap him and stopped it mid-action.

They stared at each other, the older man’s hand in between them. Newt feared to let it go. To his relief, rage dripped out of Janson’s eyes, leaving only genuine amusement.

“I have become predictable,” he stated, shaking Newt’s grip off. “Perhaps I should change my ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, dear boy. Don’t heave your head with it, I’m just thinking out loud.” He drew out a bunch of keys from the drawer of his desk, and then gestured at Newt impatiently. “Are you going to _move?_ _"_

Newt was very suddenly aware of the tension in his shoulders and the rigid posture he was arrested in. For some reason, his voice was hard to force out. “Sir, _where_ are we even going?” he asked.

“Home.” Janson smiled then, a flash of his pearly white teeth. “ _My_ home, as you might have assumed.”

“But… you can’t just… _why?_ ” Newt spluttered, heart hammering in his ribcage with dread he couldn’t help feeling.

“To have fun all night long, of course. Do dress yourself, Isaac. We shouldn’t lose a second of our time!”

 

* * *

 

 When you used to be the captain of track team back in high school, everyone was prone to assume that running was something you ought to be insanely good at, even after all these years. Which, Minho thought, was logical enough.

This was perhaps why he almost tripped over his own feet in utter astonishment when his lungs started burning, it seemed, with all the force of hell after only twenty or so minutes of running. He stopped, hands braced on his knees, to catch his breath and to assess how much his muscles actually ached. Running used to be his escape, Minho remembered, a space and time where he could be alone with his thoughts, his only companion the wind that cooled his face. 

University changed a lot of things. One of them was exhaustion and complete lack of motivation to run in the mornings like he once routinely did. It did leave its trace on his shape and while gasping for air in the middle of the street, only a lone streetlamp illuminating his path, Minho wondered why now, why ever he stopped running.

Forcing himself into an upright position again, he took a deep scorching breath and started down the same street again. Occasionally, he would pull at the collar of his shirt as though he hoped that it might help him breathe, but all in vain. By the time he neared his destination enough that he could see tall buildings of their neighborhood standing out as dark giants against the background of the slightly paler black of sky, his veins flamed like acid ran through them instead of blood. It was almost ten o’clock at night and the darkness was so thick, so winter-ish, that Minho mentally cursed Teresa for not calling earlier.

His heart wasn’t in it. The girl didn’t only care enough to check on Janson for him, she also found it in herself to call Thomas’s phone and tell him what she saw. Thomas seemed quite cheerful after the conversation despite the things she told him, and Minho suspected that it had to do with the fact that this time he wasn’t cut off mid-speech while apologizing for his sins. Making a mental note to call Teresa and thank her personally, Minho rounded the corner and found himself in the familiar playground with dirty-orange swings right in the middle of it.

Back when they first moved in with Newt, these swings used to be their guide, since they almost always got lost in the endless maze of entries to the huge building they lived in. Their shabby car stood on its usual place and the sight of it sent a jolt of relief through the boy. Rummaging for his keys in his pockets, Minho ran in and pressed the elevator button.

His nerves pulsed in his throat and his hands were sweaty. He didn’t know what he ought to do or say, but somehow he was sure that this was the right thing to do. As angry as he thought he was at Newt, something didn’t quite feel right. There had to be a rightful explanation to everything, he just needed to fight his way to it. The thought of talking with Newt terrified him beyond belief, which was somewhat concerning for him, but Minho found that he looked forward to it.

Feeling determined, he strode out of the elevator and approached his front door. He knew something was wrong as soon as he unlocked and opened it. The apartment was dark and eerily silent, except for the clock ticking in the hallway.

“Newt?” Minho yelled, tossing his keys away and slamming his hand over the switch to turn the lights on. “Newt, are you here?” His voice seemed to echo through the hollow passage leading to the living room. It was rebounding from the walls and coming back at Minho, like a joke that a cruel ghost had arranged to make fun of him.

His hand shook a little as he pulled his phone out and dialed the number he knew by heart.

“Pick up,” he whispered against the device on his ear, cursing himself over and over again for not answering when Newt had been calling him. “Pick up, come on.”

Minho’s heart sank with every ignored call. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

 

* * *

 

“Shit, I think I left my phone in the office,” Newt sighed crossing his arms over his chest in resignation, after searching for the device for solid ten minutes.

Janson was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel cheerfully; this was perhaps the happiest Newt had ever seen him. Although there was no music in the car, Janson seemed to whistle along to some tune in his mind. He almost looked normal, hair tremoring from the soft wind that came through the tiny gap of his window. “Language, Isaac.” he said disapprovingly.

Newt fought the urge to yell. “I don’t know why you keep taking my phone away every single time; it’s not like I’m trying to record anything anymore. I know better.”

“Cautiousness is always rewardable,” Janson stated, regarding himself in the front mirror while the car stopped under the red light.

“You’re being paranoid,” Newt proclaimed, and at the glare from Janson added hastily, “Sir.”

It was odd to see Janson driving a car, even an expensive one. Newt wasn’t sure what he had been expecting – a private driver? A personal taxi? The man usually looked so intimidating in whatever he did and observing him in a situation so casual, so _mundane,_ made Newt feel somewhat conflicted.  

“Sir,” he began tentatively, trying to sound respectful, “why do I have to come to your house with you?”

“I thought I made my intentions clear, my boy?”

“No, I mean… You seemed alright with doing it in the office? Why take me home?”

“Because,” Janson said and Newt could see how hard he was trying to be kindly patient, “a bed is much more comfortable than an office chair. You ruined your hair which means you’re not good for my videos anymore but it does _not_ mean you are not good at all.” The man grinned and it was sickening to see how happy he felt with himself.

“If Minho came to the office looking for me, he will most likely come to our apartment, too.”

“Odd, isn’t it, that he didn’t come to the apartment straight after coming to the office?” 

Newt swallowed against the nervous lump in his throat. It was weird, he thought, how he never appreciated the freedom and happiness he had until it was taken away from him. “Still, it’s not clever to fetch me for the night like this. What if people look for me? I can’t even let anyone know where I am without my phone.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Janson rolled his eyes. “It’s just one night, Isaac. You can’t say you’re not excited for it. I have a large bed, you know. It will be nice.”

“I don’t want it to be nice,” Newt sighed. “I never wanted any of this and you know it. I never meant to be cheating on Minho.”

“I think I will tie you up,” Janson went on, as if Newt had never spoken. “It would have looked nicer if you hadn’t gone and ruined your hair, of course, but I’m sure it will still be quite the sight.”

Newt’s shuddered at the thought. “You can’t do that,” he argued.

“I can do whatever I want.”

“Sir, I’m not- you can’t just- I’m not a toy.” It was surprisingly hard to find the right words. Newt thought he could approach the sensible part of Janson if he tried hard enough. Some silly, foolish part of him believed that over the course of the last few months Janson had come to the point of caring for him in a way that was more than just gaining pleasure. Newt knew that the man was fond of him, but it was not quite definable. “I am a human being. In a way, I have accepted what is happening between us and I thought that maybe you would come to appreciate my cooperation. I could have been kicking and fighting, but I’m obedient, aren’t I? If you want this to work, you have to treat me like a human, not some- some _thing_ you use when you need release.”

Janson blinked at him slowly. “My deer Isaac,” he said, something in his voice akin to pity. “You haven’t realized yet, have you? That is exactly what you are. Please, do not mistake me for someone who cares.”

 

* * *

 

 Being alone was something that Minho had never pondered over. He found that it was easy to amuse himself and it never really bothered him whenever he happened to lack someone’s company for this or that reason. People liked him. They were drawn to him like clingy magnets; it was just the way things have always been.

Wandering all night long about the apartment where the love of your love rejected your proposal, claiming that he has been cheating on you, and you ran off like a coward without trying to make sense of the situation… that was a little different than being alone. Sleeping was not an option in the least, and Minho was subdued to giving his thoughts the space they hadn’t had in the past few days, to rage all over his mind and drag him down to hell along with them. 

Things were, quite literally, mental. Their car was here; he had no idea where Newt could be, he had no idea what Newt could be doing, and the variety of ideas he had were not nice at all. Was Newt cheating on him at this very moment? Or was someone _hurting_ him? Beating him up? That ‘theory’, as Thomas had called it, sounded quite silly until Teresa told him about her boss acting weird.

Nothing was clear, and it was driving Minho insane. He’d punched the wall in a sudden drift of rage so many times that his knuckles came to looking _deformed_ and now there was a patch of bright red blood and torn off plaster on their white wall. He didn’t bother cleaning up neither the wall, nor himself.

The sky was turning a very light shade of grey with the blossoming sunrise. Minho hadn’t realized how many hours he spent marching down the living room, into the hallway, left to the kitchen, and back again, determinedly avoiding the bedroom for some reason he could not pinpoint. His head snapped up and his limbs froze in shock at the sound of the front door being slammed.

Newt was equally as astonished when he entered the living room to see Minho standing in the middle of the room like it was somewhere he didn’t belong. He looked like a piece of modern art shoved into an antique museum.

Minho gasped. He couldn’t help it. Seeing Newt with short black hair was something he wasn’t used to and it had its petrifying effect on him, still. Then, after the initial shock, came the tiny stings of noticing things he did not make out at the first sight.

Newt looked drained. There was no color on his face, and his eyes were so red, he could have been smoking pot for all Minho knew. Except he was sure that was not the case. There were marks on his face and the little of neck that was visible under his shirt – tight red trails of what looked like rope imprints that stretched far down into his body, hidden by his clothes.

“Minho?” He whispered, as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes.

Minho did not care. Not in the least bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minho did not care............................about what exactly? Hm?


	13. How Do I Fix This?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on IAATM: Janson figured out that Minho and Newt broke up and seized the chance to take Newt home and spend the night with him. Teresa, finding Janson suspicious, informed Minho about it. Minho decided to go to their apartment and talk to Newt, but since Newt was with Janson, he found the place empty. Newt left his phone at the office so they couldn't contact each other. The previous chapter ended with Newt returning home at dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since a lot of people were upset that I didn't include Newt's night with Janson / Minho's talk with Janson in the fic, I've decided to add them at the end of the story as bonus chapters! I'm really sorry for the delay, this chapter has been sitting in my laptop for weeks but I couldn't post it since the details weren't thought through. Yeah, anyway. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> no warnings

guys look at [this](http://mintnewt.tumblr.com/post/139772365153/long-awaited-fanart-for-its-all-about-the) awesome fanart mintnewt (dokiis) made for chapter 9 im akjfhskjdhvbjhvf

* * *

 

“Minho?” he whispered, as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes.

Minho did not care. Not in the least bit.

He crossed the room in three big strides and cupped Newt’s face in both hands, pressing their mouths together immediately. Newt sighed out a tiny sound of surprise, fingers lacing around Minho's wrists over his cheeks. The kiss was slow and soft, a gentle touch of lips that meant so much to both of them. Minho kept Newt’s head raised high, kissing the breath out of him again and again and again. His hands slid down to Newt’s shoulders and then lower to his waist, pulling the blonde flush against himself.  

“Min.” Despite everything, despite everything in the world, Newt smiled, half-heartedly moving his lips in reply.

To silence whatever argument Newt was about to say, Minho kissed him again, long and hard. “I thought I lost this,” he whispered, shaking his head to remind himself that it’s not true. “I thought I lost you.” He couldn’t get enough of Newt’s lips on his own; savored the feeling of every kiss they shared in each other’s embrace.

“Minho,” Newt tried again, tilting his head to duck the next kiss, and ending up with Minho’s tongue against his jaw.

Coaly hair tickled his face as Minho nipped his skin just light enough for it to tingle. Firm, strong hands held him in place, hips and shoulders squeezed together tightly. _It’s Minho,_ Newt had to remind himself when cold fingers snuck under his shirt and rested on the bare skin of his sides. _It’s Minho, it’s Minho, it’s Minho, don’t be stupid._

He shivered. Each icy fingertip against his body burnt like blades pricking his flesh. He wasn’t sure whether those were his bruises or something entirely else. In a haste drift of panic, Newt clutched the Asian’s arms, suddenly uncomfortable with such intimate proximity between him and another man. Minho aimed for his lips again, and Newt pushed away, taking two steps back.

“Newt?” reluctantly, Minho released the brit, hands suspended in mid-air because he didn’t know what to do with them. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…” Newt bit his lip, blinking fast. “…I don’t know.”

“Did I hurt you?”

 At that, Newt looked up and suddenly all his bruises, all the marks that Janson left on him with teeth, with ropes, with kicks and slaps, everything felt on display despite the clothes covering them. Newt squirmed on himself, hands trying to hug his form away from anybody who would ever want to touch it again. “Did _I_ hurt you?” he asked quietly, eyes darting to the red on Minho’s hands.

Minho touched the dried blood on his knuckles and winced. It stung more than he remembered. “We need to talk.”

Newt’s eyes were fixed on the patch of bright red on the wall where Minho had been punching. “You think?”

Minho shifted in front of the other boy but the brit looked away, avoiding eye contact. With a deep intake of breath, Minho tried to calm the hot coil of anger that seemed to appear in his stomach out of completely nowhere. “Did your boss hurt you?” he asked without preamble. He didn’t mean to sound so harsh but he couldn’t help it now.  

Newt’s reaction was not quite as he expected it. The boy bristled, and hugged himself tighter, like he was in a cold street without a coat; his eyes were anywhere, _everywhere,_ except Minho and that only fueled the irrational rage that was dawning on him.

“He did, didn’t he?” Minho realized he hadn’t really believed this until now. Hadn’t actually considered the thought possible. “Why? Newt, look at me! Newt, _look at me!_ ”

Newt didn’t.

“Why did you not tell me? NEWT, LOOK AT ME!” Minho pointedly ignored Newt flinching at the yelling. “I _trusted_ you. I gave you everything I had, and this is how you pay me back? Hadn’t it crossed your mind that you getting regularly beaten up by someone is something I ought to know about? Did he threaten you into silence? Damn telling me, why didn’t _you_ stand up for yourself?” Minho realized his voice was dangerously close to cracking, so he stopped to take a deep breath. “I thought the bruise on your neck was a _hickey,_ Newt. After four years together- I thought you’d been cheating—“

Newt exploded. “I _HAVE_ been cheating on you, Minho! It _was_ a hickey, alright?!”

That shut him up. Minho’s eyebrows shot up on their own accord and his face froze in what must’ve been the most perplexed expression Newt has ever seen him wear. It almost caused him physical pain to try and search for the right words for explaining the situation. Or perhaps that was his skin hurting from the night it had been through.

“I didn’t mean to,” he finally mumbled. His brain was so achingly tired and unprepared to face Minho that all rational thoughts just collapsed on top of each other at the mere sight of the Asian standing there, waiting to be enlightened.

“You didn’t mean to,” Minho repeated dully and laughed. “You didn’t mean to.”

“I didn’t.”

Minho inhaled a deep breath, running both hands through his hair. He always acted a little edgy when he was angry. “Okay,” he said tiredly. “Okay, because that explains so much, Isaac. That explains all of it, why bother giving me an actual answer?”

“Don’t call me that,” Newt asked feebly.

Minho stared at the brit. He wasn’t sure coming here was worth it anymore. Newt was so obviously avoiding giving any direct answers, it was unbelievably frustrating. “I’m done with your shit, Newt,” he said slowly. “If you have nothing to tell me, I’m going to get up and leave.”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it probably wasn’t Newt unbuttoning his coat and tossing it to the side. “What do you want to know?” he asked, crossing his arms, a determined expression on his face.

“Whatever you think I deserve to know.”

Newt sighed heavily. That wasn’t a fair answer. “It started with the promotion,” he started after a minute of hesitation. “I went into his office to give him the bottle of wine we bought.” He leaned against the wall, too sore to sit down. Minho followed him with the shift of his eyes, but stayed silent. “He told me he recorded the conversation where he offers me an illegal promotion and I accept it. He said it can get me in trouble with the police.”

“He blackmailed you,” Minho clarified.

“He did. In return for his silence, he asked me to… to do stuff with him.” Newt closed his eyes and willed himself to stay calm. He didn’t think much cause if he did, he knew he would stop talking.

Minho’s eyes shifted to the neckline of his shirt, where a bouquet of bruises trailed over his skin. He pressed his lips into a thin line and let out a stuttering breath through his nostrils. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” Newt said. “He would’ve gotten you into trouble, too. You would’ve done something stupid. I don’t _know,_ Min, I couldn’t. At first I thought it would be dangerous but then I just physically couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. It was like I set myself up for keeping this secret because it was secure that way. I knew that you and I, we both won’t get hurt as long as I keep doing this and I didn’t know what’d happen if I told you. I just knew it was gonna be bad.”

“But you _were_ getting hurt.”

“It didn’t matter.”

Minho closed his eyes, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“I’m sorry,” Newt said softly. He hadn’t registered the tears running down his face so he didn’t try to wipe them away. “I never gave him my consent, if that changes anything.”

Minho’s eyes shot back open. “Shut up,” he said, chest starting to heave. “ _SHUT UP!”_

He turned around and kicked the wall behind him. Hard. Newt watched in silent amazement as Minho paced around the room, shattering things at random. He seemed to have lost the unyielding calm built up throughout months and it was a horrifying scene to watch. The torn skin on his knuckles bled.

“Minho,” the older man called, concerned.

“How do I fix this?” Minho tried to keep his voice low, but failed. “How do I fix this, Newt? How do I _trust_ you? How do I not cut that man into pieces?”

“Minho,” Newt said again, gentler. He took a few wary steps forward and cupped the brunet’s cheek, fingers feather-light against the sweaty skin.

Minho flinched and jerked back from the touch. Newt’s hand fell to his side.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice pained. Tears didn’t seem to matter for either of them anymore. “You can’t bear to be touched by me and I can’t bear to be touched by anyone, it seems. I’ll just go. For now, I’ll go.”

Distantly, Newt wondered if anything could be right in his life again. He turned around, not able to glance at Minho one last time before going. His feet carried him forward almost on their own accord. He wondered if their front door has always been this heavy, wondered where he could go, for how long he could stay at Alby’s. The orange swings in front of their building looked dirtier than usual, their bright color faded under many layers of mud, almost as if they didn’t dare to look happy.

Newt let out a sob. His body and his brain were so numb he almost didn’t realize a hand grabbed his wrist from behind.

Before he knew what was happening, his head was pressed against a warm chest and his shoulders were wrapped tight in a pair of arms. Newt shuddered from his head to toes, sight going black from overwhelming pain, but soon he melted into the embrace, letting the warmth of his soulmate consume him, merging into the safe bubble of momentary relief that chilled the fire in his bones.

“The last thing I’m intending to do is let you go on your own again,” Minho whispered against his hair. “I’m going to be honest, Newt, I don’t know how we’re going to make this work again. But right now, just… stay. Please.”

Newt nodded, nuzzling into Minho’s chest. They stood there for a few peaceful moments, content to ignore the real world. 

“It’s almost morning,” Minho said eventually. “Go to sleep. I’ll go and speak to your boss.”

The spell broke. An instant chill ran down Newt’s spine and he jerked his head up, already shaking it vigorously. “Don’t- you can’t- I can’t-“

“What do you expect me to do? I’m not letting you go back to that place.”

“You can’t go speak to him, Minho, please,” Newt stepped back, putting some distance between them. He instantly felt cold, coat still in their apartment. “I’ll call in sick, I won’t go there tomorrow. Today, I mean. We’ll work something up, but you can’t go there-“

Minho hesitated.

“Promise me,” Newt pressed. His eyes were red and tired and pleading.

Minho’s determination subsided. “Alright,” he said.

“I can’t call him,” Newt suddenly realized. “I left my phone in the office.”

“Write an email?”

“He won’t read it until he’s in the office. He needs to be warned earlier. God, he’s going to be mad. He’s going to-“ Newt stopped at the way Minho’s expression darkened. “He’ll be mad at me.”

“I’ll ask Teresa to warn him.”

“You know her? But Minho, it’s still-“

“No arguments. Go to sleep.”

Newt sighed. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Going to bed was not as easy of a process as it was supposed to be. Things got particularly awkward when Minho insisted he make sure that Newt is settled all right in the bedroom and Newt caught himself wondering since when things like this were _awkward_ with _Minho._

“I’m fine,” he said for the hundredth time, but that didn’t convince the Asian.

He kneeled in front of the bed to unlace Newt’s boots and Newt had nothing left to do but stare down at the man who was willing to help him after everything he’s been put through. Minho was as breathtaking as ever. His hair was disheveled and messy and the dried dribbles of blood on his hands still haven’t been taken care of but somehow he still looked like the most beautiful thing Newt has ever seen.

And it made him feel guilty.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said a little desperately. Something in his voice must have sounded pained because Minho looked up, brows furrowed.

“Yes, I do,” he answered simply, pulling off Newt’s dirt-coated boots. Tugging down his zipper, an action once so intimate, was just another loud noise in the silence of their bedroom. Minho placed his fingers on the waistband of Newt’s jeans, infinitely careful not to touch skin because Newt’s words from earlier stuck with him.

_I can’t bear to be touched by anyone._

“You’re going to get angry,” Newt pleaded with him, refusing to lift his hips and let the fabric slide off his hips.

“I’m not,” Minho promised, without meeting his boyfriend’s – his _something’s_ – eyes. It was _funny,_ how none of them believed it, but both pretended to, because that’s what their relationship has come to. Somehow lying seemed not only the easier option, but the right one.

When Newt let his pants and his shirt be discarded, he didn’t open his eyes. His skin scorched where Minho’s fingers hovered over it, but Newt was too scared, _way_ too scared to meet his eyes.

When Minho spoke, Newt had to face him. “Did he do this? Or did you—?”

His pupils shifted from one side of Newt’s body to the other almost restlessly, like he couldn’t bear to look at the bruises for too long, but he couldn’t make himself look away either. The fair, slightly freckled skin, once smooth and tempting, now looked absolutely _wrecked._ There were narrow, long cuts along Newt’s collarbone, on his sides, around his wrists; some of them were crusting, others looked like they would peel off at the lightest touch. 

“He tied me up,” Newt explained, voice so small and unsure, as if he didn’t know whether providing Minho with that information was a good idea at all.

“These are rope marks?” Minho inquired, fingers twitching above Newt’s chest.

Newt nodded once, hands on his sides itching to cover his body from prying eyes. “He got carried away.”

Minho wanted to ask why Newt didn’t tell him to stop, but the question dried on his tongue when he realized that Newt probably did. The hairs on the back on his neck rouse from the icy shiver that the thought caused. “What else did he do?”

The yellowish purple under Newt’s ribs – the oldest one, Minho figured – turned out to be a result of getting repeatedly kicked by feet. The scrapes on his nape were apparently a punishment for cutting off his hair. The blazing, angry-purple bruises on his shoulder blades that Newt claimed he did not know what Janson used to inflict, were there because Janson liked the sounds they had Newt make. He did not ask about the whip marks on his thighs.  

Minho’s brow bone ached more and more with every response he got from Newt and soon enough he couldn’t take it anymore. He used every last ounce of self-control to will the moisture gathering in his eyes back, and looked at Newt, lips pursing into a thin line.

“I know you blame me,” Newt said, “but I really didn’t have a choice.”

Swallowing a million protests, Minho nodded. “That doesn’t matter now. Let me help you clean your wounds up and then sleep. I’ll take the couch.”

 

* * *

 

It felt like somebody was jabbing a sledgehammer against his head. Every insistent knock seemed to shatter his skull further and Newt groaned, curling in on himself to escape the headache.

Somebody’s phone was buzzing in the room and Newt’s eyes snapped open before he could remember that he didn’t have his own device with him. A moment of confusion intensified the unwelcome pounding in his head but then there was a hand on his shoulder and his vision cleared.

Instinctively he flinched from the touch, recoiling away, but then he stopped himself. “Min?” he asked. The pounding was way too loud to just be in his head and the repeating tune of the phone did nothing good to help him focus.

“Newt, hey,” said a familiar voice next to him. “Stay put for a moment, I’ll get the front door.” The voice did not belong to Minho.

“Tommy?” he asked, snatching the wrist that was on his shoulder a minute ago. “What’re you doing here? Where’s Minho?”

For some reason Thomas looked extremely uncomfortable. “He had to go out and asked me to look after you. He’s fine, Newt, don’t worry. I’m gonna go open the door before whoever’s out there crushes it, okay?”

The door. That must be the source of all the pounding, Newt realized.

“Okay,” he said slowly, letting go of Thomas. The boy sent a panicky look at the phone clutched in his hand and moved to open the door but Newt stopped him again. “Who’s messaging you so much?” he asked, gesturing at the vibrating device in his hand.

“No one,” Thomas lied.

“Let me see,” Newt asked and Thomas instantly hid his phone behind his back.

“No.”

“Tommy—” Newt reached out for him but Thomas sped out of the door before his phone could be snatched away. Newt found his slippers and followed the boy hastily. “Let me see,” he demanded, catching Thomas’s wrist from behind.

Thomas was about to argue when a particularly insistent knock made the hinges of the front door rattle. “Open up!” somebody demanded in a steel voice.

Newt grabbed the phone while Thomas was distracted. The poor boy looked lost, hand reaching out to get his phone back but body already moving towards the door. “Just don’t panic, please, Newt,” he said in resignation before disappearing into the hallway.

Thomas had a dozen of new messages from somebody named Teresa. Newt thought it might be his coworker for a moment, but he couldn’t be sure, so he checked the contents.

_“I told Janson about Isaac, like you asked :) He wasn't very pleased, but oh well.”_

_“Tom, there’s a guy in here— he just let himself in with Newt’s id card?”_

_“What?”_

_“He’s pounding on Janson’s door wtf”_

_“Oh my god, Tom, he just punched the security”_

_“Tom, do you know this guy?”_

_“Crap, Teresa, I think I might know him”_

_“Black hair, tall, maze tattoo on the nape?”_

_“So you know him?”_

_“Tom”_

_“Tom”_

_“Tom omg”_

_“He’s shouting something about needing to talk to Janson”_

_“Oh crap”_

_“Crap Teresa crap, can you stop him?”_

_“Janson just came out and told the security guys that it’s okay and that he’ll talk to this gentleman?????”_

_“What the fuck”_

_“????”_

_“Tom, what’s going on”_

_“Is that Newt’s boyfriend? The one who called the other day?”_

_“He’s in Janson’s office”_

_“Janson just stepped out of the office and made a phone call..?”_

_“I’m coming.”_

_“Don’t! You’ll make things messier than they already are!”_

_“I don’t care Teresa, I’m coming.”_

_“Fine but hurry up then.”_

_“Hold up Newt’s boyfriend just stepped out of there.”_

_“He looks really angry.”_

_“Wait I’ll try to talk to him brb”_

Newt’s heart fell into his knees. Minho _promised,_ he _promised._ He felt himself shaking and tossed the phone away on the sofa not to drop it. Then, he scrambled back for it, and searched the contacts for Minho’s number. His hands were frantic and the trembling wouldn’t let him do anything productive. He tossed the phone away again in frustration.

“Tommy?” he called, dragging himself into the hallway.

He froze. Thomas was talking to three men in uniforms. One of them noticed him.

“Isaac Newton?” he asked, shoving Thomas out of the way. Newt nodded without registering what he’s doing. The man beckoned his colleagues forward. “Isaac Newton,” he said in an official voice. “You are being placed under arrest for illegal transitions of money to your bank account from the WCKD Plus LLC without its knowledge. You have the right to remain silent. If you choose to give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder: I in no way support or encourage sex without consent/sexual harassment/emotional abuse/violence/blackmailing. The content of this story is ONLY and STRICTLY a work of fiction and is unforgivable to even consider in real life.


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